Blood is Our Water
by Cervantes Diderot
Summary: In Westeros, blood defines an individual more deeply than anything else. Nobles, commoners, and peasants are all trapped by the liquid which flows through their veins. Lilith finds that she is no exception to this rule, as the last heir to Houses Tarbeck and Reyne. Suddenly vaulted into a treacherous game started by her great-grandmother, the girl fights for survival.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Sacrifice.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

 **261**

The woman walked through the bustling streets of Tarbeck Keep with a large hood covering her face. People hurried around either trying to pack their belongings into hastily purchased carts, or fortifying their homes for the battle to come. Guards, soldiers, and Tarbeck knights would occasionally race through the streets on various, last minute missions. It was nighttime, but the sheer number of torches made it quite difficult for her to hide in the shadows. She finally made her way out of the bustling village to Tarbeck Hall allowing both of her brown eyes to appreciate the building.

Usually the word 'hall' was reserved for the pettiest, and poorest of lords. Yet the halls occupied by minor nobles were not the same as what she was looking at in that moment. Crafted from stone Tarbeck Hall was a box-like castle with respectably high walls. Marching beneath the gate she was surprised by the lack of guards, but realized they must have been helping the craftsmen repair the braie. The real threat was not going to be from within the walls, but outside of them. Tywin Lannister had returned to the Westerlands restoring every bit of lost power to Casterly Rock. Now Tarbeck Hall was one of the last strongholds of rebellion left. Everyone waited with bated breaths for the Tarbeck forces to meet their overlords on the battlefield.

Her feet pattered against the floors while she trekked a path through the pitch-black shadows. Maids ran around like chickens without heads while stablehands chased after them with arms full of precious goods. The woman wondered why the servants were being allowed to handle such expensive objects. If she were still in Essos the servants would have certainly found themselves with open bellies in the courtyard for such a crime. Observing as more of the Tarbeck staff followed the hallway to an unknown destination the woman stepped into the light for a better glance. Her brown eyes noted with surprise when a younger man raced by, holding an assortment of shovels, spades, and dolabras.

She recalled a split-moment later that there were far more important things to occupy her mind with. Ellyn Reyne. Her feet stalked predatorily through the darkness while those brown eyes skimmed the passing servants for a suitable target. Several minutes passed by until a scrawny, young girl rushed close by her hiding spot. The woman grabbed her prey with a clawed hand into the shadows, the other hand moved to prevent any screams from breaking the air. Two lips moved in a buzzing language before falling into a cruel smirk.

The maid was now blank faced, her mouth dangled open as though about to bite into food. "Lady Ellyn Reyne is in her study," The child said monotonously, "Head straight, turn left, and look for the third door to the right." Both, glassy blue eyes shut closed tightly, as the maid fell to the floor with a light thud. The shadowy woman crept stealthily along towards Ellyn Reyne's study. Moonlight shined through windows threatening to reveal her unwelcome presence in the Hall, but thankfully there were no servants scurrying around near the study. The door was unlocked, and the woman slipped inside without making a single sound.

She observed Ellyn Reyne's still-beautiful, yet aged, face wrinkle confusedly at the realization that a potentially dangerous stranger had cornered her. "Reveal yourself," The golden beauty stood from her seat across the study, "I will not be slain by a coward." The hooded intruder simply stepped further into the torchlight. Her eyes took in the undeniable beauty known as Ellyn Reyne. A river golden hair marred slightly by grey shimmered quite prettily in the torchlight. High cheekbones accentuated aristocratic features even a frozen Stark could fall head over heels for. She took in the woman's supple frame, covered only by a flimsy, crimson gown, before noting Ellyn's smoldering pair of green eyes

Ellyn Reyne's lovely, emerald greeneyes narrowed sharply. "I suggest you reveal your identity," The Lady smiled saccharinely, "Before I begin making a ruckus." The stranger finally acquiesced, pulling the hood back to reveal her striking, Essos features. "You?" Ellyn spat venomously, "I suspected Tywin Lannister would launch a preemptive strike, but never that he would sic his woods witch on my family."

Maggy the Frog did not look happy with that remark at all. "I came of my own, free will. No Lannister sicced me on anybody." She smiled mirthfully, "In fact, I came to assist you. To help your bloodline survive the slaughter that marches closer with each word we exchange."

"How can you help me?" Ellyn sneered, emerald greeneyes flashing, "I know what _magic_ you work in Lannisport. Abortions, and half-baked fortunes will not save me."

Then she almost jumped back in shock, for Maggy began to cackle in wicked delight. Finally she resumed speaking in between the chuckles, "My 'half-baked' prophecies are not meant to save _you_. No, while peering into the flames I witnessed the arrival of something that will not come for many years. Something sweet, and exquisitely delectable." They stared at each other for a long moment until Maggy spoke once more, "Your great-granddaughter will be named Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne. Westeros shall think the Tarbecks and Reynes gone until she returns to take what is rightfully her's."

Now it was Ellyn Reyne's turn to laugh. "What makes you think I could fall for such foolery?" She asked, "Magic does not exist you sideways _bat_! Perhap the whores of Lannisport believe this garbage, but I will not stand for it. Your son should be absolutely ashamed to have such an outrageously scandalous mother."

Maggy the Frog no longer smiled, or laughed, or seemed to have any semblance of patience. The candles surrounding the study suddenly guttered out when an incredible gust of wind picked up in the room. Ellyn seemed surprised by the occurrence, but clearly was about to brush it off as a mere coincidence. The woods witch then whispered something unintelligible right before every single torch and candle in the room exploded back to life more powerfully than before. "Do you believe me now? Lady Reyne?" Maggy asked with a rather arrogant tone.

Ellyn could only nod as she realized that perhaps magic _did_ still exist. Her legs suddenly grew quite weak as she all but collapsed into her high-backed seat. The truth suddenly started to sink into her reluctant head. If Maggy was not lying about magic, then her prophecy was most likely correct as well. She was destined to die, but one of her offspring would live on and give birth to this 'Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne'. "What do you get out of this," Ellyn asked sharply, distrustful once more. "Why would you not simply use your powers to strike myself and my children dead? That would gain your family the Lannister favor."

"The Lannister favor is nothing compared to what I witnessed," Maggy smiled genuinely, "Old blood will run strong in your granddaughter. Magic thrice as potent as mine shall bless Westeros once more." Her smile grew darker, "Turn your grandson over to me, Lady Ellyn. I can raise him safe from Tywin Lannister's grubby paws. Sow the seeds of revenge so that his daughter might rise to meet her destiny." Ellyn simply stared at the flagstones. She was convinced that Maggy the Frog was speaking the truth, if that was truly possible. The noblewoman could even see some plausibility to the entire plan. Perhaps her death was the sacrifice needed to attain victory.

"I would like very much to hear this prophecy," Ellyn Reyne requested, "Perhaps then I will consider your offer."

They both went silent for a moment. "The future can be a terrible thing to know," Maggy admitted, "But I will tell you anyways." The beautiful, Essos witch leaned against the desk with closed eyes as though waiting for something to happen. Then in a voice composed of a thousand whispers she recited, " _The Lioness of the seven pointed star shall fall far… Her death will bring victory to the mouth of the ruthless young lord… In her shadow a man will hide with the remnants of a forgotten time… Plastered in crimson blood Lilith of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne shall discover her true name… She will raise the dead, drink the blood and marrow of her fellow man, burn to ashes, drown to mold, suffocate in the earth, and fall through the wind… In the hopes that her bloodline shall rise again_ …" The last word was a heavy hiss. The candle wicks simultaneously grew dark once more.

"There is more that I saw," She gasped, "More that cannot possibly be said. Your brothers will soon be dead. Your daughters tortured from their captor's beds. But we can change the direction of this dark path." Brown eyes flickered with fire as they peered up at Ellyn. "Between our combined efforts the tapestry will be completely rewritten."

OOOO

Maester Ulric was not asleep when Ellyn Reyne, lady of Tarbeck Hall, visited his chambers late in the evening. The middle aged man had been preoccupied with the approaching threat like most of his fellow Tarbeck servants. Ink stained his hands, and the lack of sleep left him exhausted. Soldiers raced through the corridors while masonry-men struggled to repair even the smallest of cracks in the fortifications. No matter how high the Westerland moon rose in the sky every man, woman, and child either fled south, or steeled themselves for battle.

Right when the candles on his desk looked ready to flicker out someone strode haughtily into the room. Standing sharply to both feet the man glared shrewdly at the woman who was the cause of the chaotic pandemonium he found himself drowning in. "You have nerve," He spat coldly, "To disrupt my best efforts to broker peace with our overlords." Both of his cornflower-blue eyes roved shrewdly over Ellyn Reyne's elegant form. She was a beauty surpassed by no other woman in the Westerlands, even at the age of forty and five such a fact was undeniable.

An ocean of golden hair barely marred by tints of grey along with her undeniably beautiful features never failed to draw attention. However, the only characteristic which Maester Ulric had ever truly concerned himself with were her eyes. Fiery, cunning, emerald eyes that swirled with thousands of machinations every time the man looked into them. Those very same eyes now stabbed into him like two Valyrian daggers. "You waste your ink, and our precious little time, Maester Ulric," The woman spoke in a melodious voice, "Tywin Lannister is harder than his father ever was. He will not heed your pathetic pleas for mercy."

Anger coursed through Ulric's veins, as he swiped the mounds of parchment and ink off his desk in a fit fury. "What do you suggest we do then, my Lady," He exploded tempestuously, "After all, it is your incessant schemes which have brought ruin to our gates!" Silence fell, but Ellyn Reyne was visibly undeterred, for she never failed to maneuver into favorable positions with her sharp wit. The woman swept across the room, so that she could stare directly into the Maester's face.

"You waste time," She smiled coldly, "Trying to fix what will soon be smashed into small bits and little pieces." Her voice dropped an octave lower, "Unlike you I have the capacity to look towards the future, and not the present." He glared at her with distrust, though Ulric knew he was already tangled deep within Lady Reyne's web of deceit. He wondered how such a thing ever came to be, particularly after he had spent so long holding the silver tongued woman at an arm's length. "We cannot save House Tarbeck from Tywin, he is too true a Lannister," Ellyn continued, "But we may just be able to fight another day."

At that the door opened, and another woman entered his study. This one, however, was clearly from Essos with her dark eyes and hair. "Meet Maggy the Frog, mother of Ser Rolph Spicer, and our secret weapon," Ellyn introduced the witch with an almost greedy look.

Maester Ulric spluttered violently, "But there is no such _thing_ as a wit-." His slightly open window was wrenched open by the wind a moment later. All of the papers whipping around in the powerful gust made the young man grow somewhat disoriented. A hand fell heavily on his shoulder as he spun around to face the Essos woman. Furiously he slapped her hand away before stumbling backwards to the desk in shock. Something wicked glimmered like fire in her wide, brown eyes.

Her mouth opened wide, " _Dracarys_." Flames erupted into a roaring existence behind the Maester causing him to fall to the floor. What had formerly been his highly polished desktop was disintegrating to a pile of ashes. He stared with a dumbfounded expression between Ellyn and this 'Maggy the Frog'. Silence passed for a very long moment, so heavily that Ulric wondered if he would ever hear another sound again. Though considering the circumstances, he decided, that would most probably not be such an unwelcome thing.

Finally Ellyn spoke with her river of golden hair whipping in the now gentle breeze. "Maggy has proven her abilities sufficiently, I suppose," Her emerald greeneyes bright with mirth, "Now it is time to put them to use Maester Ulric." Then she looked expectantly towards the visibly exhausted witch. "Where do we begin?"

OOOO

An hour later the Maester of Tarbeck Hall found himself following behind Ellyn and her son Tion. The young Lord had been summoned by Ellyn only a short time earlier, meeting them with an oblong bundle of silk in hand. Much to his chagrin the witch had asked to be left to her own devices in his study while they prepared their fastest horses for travel. Ulric noted how Lady Ellyn marched ahead of him, whispering earnestly to Tion. Her words must have held great importance, for the lad was listening as though every word were more meaningful than the last. Right at the moment when Ulric was readying himself to bellow frustrated obscenities at the two aristocrats they came to a stop before the massive stables.

House Tarbeck was known in the Westerlands for its impressive collection of horses: Coursers, destriers, and even two Dornish Sand Steeds. Though something told Ulric that he would not be admiring the expansive assortment of equestrians when he entered the stables. Tion stepped into the dark building while his mother followed close behind. Breathing deeply the Maester moved after them with hesitancy leeching into his every step. He was surprised to find that light was already illuminating the gloomy row of pens. The stink of shit hit his nose with an unforgivable vengeance, but Ulric charged through it.

He walked after Ellyn until she came to a final stop in the storage room. Lady Rohanne Tarbeck stood with plated hands as the piles of hay towered over her. While the woman was not as beautiful as her mother she was just as wily nonetheless. He noted that Rohanne's younger sister Cerelle stood next to her with a tear streaked face. Rohanne, Ellyn's favorite child by far, spoke to her mother in an unruffled tone. "What is to happen?" The redhead asked while her young son, Walderan Tarbeck the fourth, clung to her skirts.

"You will not be staying at Tarbeck Hall," Ellyn declared in a factual manner. She acted as though that statement were the most obvious thing in the world. Ulric choked slightly at his first glimpse into Ellyn Reyne's latest scheme. "I intend to send you and Cerelle to the Reach, where Tywin Lannister would never dare bring his troops," The noblewoman spoke directly to Rohanne.

"What about Walderan," The young woman snapped back ferociously, "Where do you plan on sending him?"

For the first time since meeting her, Ulric saw something other than cold indifference on Ellyn Reyne's face. She looked, for a moment, stricken with grief. Then the fire was burning with brilliant luminance again in her green eyes. "They will torture you," Ellyn responded morosely, "If the Lannisters capture you they will torture Walderan's location from your mouth."

"So I may never see my son again," Rohanne gasped sharply, as Cerelle embraced her tightly. She stared at Ellyn with pleading eyes, "Promise me no harm will come to him. That he will not suffer the same fate as his father." The room grew heavy. Tywin Lannister had captured nearly every Tabeck male, and ordered their beheadings only a week prior. Unfortunately for Rohanne that had included her own husband, who had been the cousin of her father Walderan the third, Lord of Tarbeck Hall. "If you swear, on the old and the new," Rohanne continued, "I will leave Walderan with you, mother." They stared at one another for a very long moment.

"I swear it," Ellyn answered somberly, "Walderan will be safer than all of us combined." Rohanne collapsed to the floor, and scooped her son up into both arms. Every occupant in the room watched the painful scene: A mother forced to part with her child. The woman kissed every inch of her son's body while whispering something in his ears over and over again. She finally released him before dashing out of the room in a hurricane of silken finery. Cerelle was just as affectionate as her sister had been towards the boy, so she remained long enough for Tion to draw his nephew into a prolonged embrace.

Ellyn kissed both of Cerelle's rosy cheeks then watched with plated fingers as Tion guided the sobbing girl out of the stables. "I always found it quite odd," Ellyn sighed in a strained tone, "That someone as deplorable as I could be blessed with such beautiful children." Her green eyes shot up to Ulric's own, "Though that is the way the Seven work, yes? They give you _everything_ before taking all of it away…" She looked more vulnerable than the Maester had ever seen her before, so he took the opportunity to pounce.

"Can we truly trust Maggy the Frog?" His blue eyes shined with an indescribable emotion, "Her own son is one of Tywin Lannister's most loyal supporters. Are you absolutely certain that a siege is not more prudent than putting our lives in her hands?" A few seconds passed after he had finished voicing his worries until he was given an answer.

Ellyn moved closer to the coursers that would carry her beloved daughters into the Reach. "A siege will most certainly lead to our deaths," The woman responded, "At least this way there is a little hope." Her emerald green eyes shined with something indescribable, "Maggy told me about my great-granddaughter. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne shall be the conqueror of the Westerlands. I intend for you to raise her, and serve as her counsel so long as you live."

No response passed from between his lips, as he stared at the ground dazedly. Then finally, "If this 'Lilith' is ever even born, how will she prove her identity?" A sneer twisted Ellyn's lips while she motioned towards the bundle of silk Tion had left on a bale of hay. Ulric moved towards it, and swore he could hear every one of his bones creaking. Soon enough he stood before the pile of hay, tugging loose the fabric hiding the oblong object from view. "The Father's Gift?" He asked in bewildered awe, for he was staring down at the ancestral Valyrian sword of House Tarbeck.

With that revelation every single last piece of the puzzle clicked tightly into place. Ellyn must have known how small her odds were for defeating Tywin Lannister. Everything he had witnessed that evening was a backup plan in case the absolute worst did come to pass. "Any blacksmith with a head on his shoulders would be able to recognize that blade," She remarked smoothly, "And it is a befitting weapon for the heir of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck." Ulric stepped back from the blade to stare at the young boy standing with one hand on his grandmother's skirts.

Walderan the fourth was a mirror reflection of his grandmother, except a male child. Sleek, golden hair, with burning, emerald eyes. Any human with eyes could easily tell he would have the same, haughty attractiveness as Ellyn by the time he was a man grown. The Maester had not yet begun educating the boy, so he had no inkling of young Walderan's intelligence. Carefully he sat back on the hay bale, and nodded for the woman to continue speaking.

"At this moment our most trusted servants and guards are doing everything necessary to preserving the Tarbeck legacy," Ellyn's hair whipped around when a powerful gust rattled through the stables. "Burying every book, jewel, gown, and object Tarbeck Hall contains," Her voice was like steel, "Deep within the very foundation we stand on." She gently instructed her grandson to sit on the floor, so her feet could roam the storage room floor freely.

For a long moment Ellyn paced as the torchlight caused her golden hair to burn like the sun. "I will remain here to my last breath, hiding what must be hidden from the Lannisters," Her body spun to face him once more, "But you will be riding south. With whatever belongings, and wealth you can carry. One day my great-granddaughter will conquer the Westerlands from Greenfield to Wyndhall, with you at her side." She smiled bitterly at the hay, "Take the two sand steeds, and three destriers. Ride with young Walderan no further than Sarsfield. Tywin Lannister will never expect you to be directly under his conniving nose."

Ulric blinked, gulped for air, licked both lips, and shook his head in rapid succession. He knew now that Lady Ellyn was perhaps the most masterful politician Westeros had ever seen, surpassing Tywin Lannister and even the Queen of Thorns by bounds. She understood that a sacrifice was sometimes necessary to stay one step ahead of the opponent. Guilt suddenly wrenched his gut like a tidal wave as he recalled his former distrust of Ellyn. Of the many occasions in which he had questioned her faith to House Tarbeck when she was so ready to die for its continued existence. "Lady Ellyn," He commented croakily, "You are far braver than any man I have ever met."

She bent before her grandson without glancing at the Maester, "Most women generally are, you miserable fart." He did not respond, simply listening to the woman interact with Walderan, but the exchange was far too quiet for him to eavesdrop. Ellyn stared deep into young Walderan's eyes, and her lips spoke to his small face. Then she placed a kiss on his cheek before standing to both feet. "A servant girl shall be delivering you some supplies," The Lady of Tarbeck Hall sighed, "I trust you are capable of readying the horses yourself." Without another word, or glance, she fled the stables.

Maester Ulric knew without any doubt that he would never see the woman alive again.

OOOO

Next Chapter: The Witch.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Witch.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

 **298 AC**

Everyone in Westeros knew of the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion. How the two mighty Houses rose up, and spat upon the feet of their Lannister Lords. Most people were more fond of the end to the story rather than the actual events, however. From the Eyrie to Sunspear, parents tucked their children into bed with varied versions of the fall of both Houses. How every last Reyne was drowned in the labyrinth known as Castamere, and the proud Lady Ellyn was crushed beneath Tarbeck Hall with her son. The more politically conscientious parents even used the tale as a warning to tread lightly around those with Lannister blood. Though these people, who believed themselves well acquainted with the story, were absolutely ignorant of one detail.

No one knew that deep in the Westerlands, right underneath the noses of the Lannisters, the last son of House Tarbeck lived in hiding. Walderan Tarbeck, fourth of his name, had only been a tyke during the Tarbeck-Reyne Rebellion. Nevertheless he could remember many important things from his childhood. Bright, sunny days, as his beautiful mother Rohanne, and grandmother Ellyn chased him around Tarbeck Hall. Aunt Cyrelle, his proud grandfather, as well as his handsome uncles Roger and Reynard Reyne. Unfortunately there were fewer memories of the days before the rebellion than there were after the rebellion.

He remembered darkness, blood, and sorrow. Every woman in his family ceased smiling, and instead cried as their husbands rode for battle. All except for his grandmother, Ellyn Reyne, the master manipulator who had always faced the Lannisters with fearless fortitude. Inevitably the Westerland overlords closed in on each of the of their rebellious strongholds, one-by-one. His mother Rohanne, and aunt Cyrelle fled for the Reach at the behest of his steely-eyed grandmother. Walderan was sent away soon after their departure to hide in a little farm on the lands of House Sarsfield.

Ulric, the loyal Maester Ellyn had assigned as his guardian, refused to tell him the fate of his as he grew older the smallfolk of Sarsfield proved more willing to discuss the spilling of Tarbeck blood. His grandmother and uncle Tion were crushed to death during Tywin Lannister's assault on Tarbeck Hall. They at least died somewhat cleanly compared to his mother Rohanne and Aunt Cerelle. The rumors insisted that both women were later caught, raped by forty of Tywin Lannister's most loyal men, physically deformed, and left with an unspecified convent of Silent Sisters. After hearing that one story he woke from so many night terrors that Ulric was forced to concoct sleeping tonics for him.

The worst part of it was that for all intents and purposes, Walderan Tarbeck the fourth was dead. Some other, poor boy had been thrown down a well by Amory Lorch as a means of tying up the loose ends his escape had undoubtedly caused. He wondered often, even into his ever advancing age, whether or not he should lament the loss of his identity, or respect the safety provided by his mother and aunt's sacrifice.

Walderan never saw the cataclysmic slaughter at Tarbeck Hall, but he was familiar with the aftermath. At the age of seven-and-ten he made his first trip out of Sarsfield to visit the ruins of his ancestral seat. Nothing was left except for the crumbling foundation. After that disappointment he travelled Westeros from Dorne all the way up to the Wall. By the time he returned to that dingy old farm five years had passed, and there was a babe clutched in his arms. A much more wrinkled Ulric simply asked who the mother was. He never got an answer.

Much to Ulric's pleasure Walderan did not possess the political savvy, desire, or natural charisma to initiate any more conflict with the Lannisters. As time continued to pass they instead found themselves focusing on a much simpler lifestyle with none of Ellyn's grand ambitions. Walderan was a hard worker who held no qualms with the idea of spending his days farming the land of their small property. Ulric concerned himself with breeding his collection of the expensive horses saved from Tarbeck Hall until a massively profitable herd was produced.

However, the maester's increasingly passive stance on carrying out Ellyn's wishes for vengance were soon set aflame. Walderan's young daughter grew with each passing day into a near-exact replica of Ellyn Reyne. Except, he grudgingly acknowledged, she was far more beautiful and dangerous than her great-grandmother ever was. Lilith Tarbeck was perhaps one of the greatest beauties Westeros had ever seen. Her golden hair resembled the wild, silky mane of one of his Dornish sand steeds. All of her features looked to have been carved from the softest marble, producing the most exquisite of shapes. Like her deceased grandmother, Lilith's eyes resembled two, glittering emeralds. Though Ulric believed that the girl's greatest characteristic was actually what set her apart from Ellyn Reyne. Without the knowledge of her heritage the girl was much less arrogant. There was an unyielding kindness in her heart which was not marred by a distorted, aristocratic view of the world.

Of all the requests Ellyn had made to Ulric those many years ago he steadfastly upheld at least one of them. Walderan was given the finest education possible, and so was his daughter. They were both taught to read, perform complicated mathematics, and even maintain themselves with all the dignity expected from those of noble birth. Lilith's training went much further than her father's ever did, however.

The girl possessed a formidable intelligence which Ulric could not help but stoke with all of his knowledge. There was no trait he admired more than intelligence, and the Maester began to fondly regard Lilith Tarbeck as his own granddaughter. Therefore, it was no surprise that he began to impart upon her everything he had learned during his training at the Citadel of Oldtown. Warcraft, ravenry, husbandry, mathematics, and smithing, were only a few of many skills. Meanwhile her father held no qualms with training his daughter to wield a sword, shoot a bow, and ride a horse.

Both men recognized that Lilith had inherited that same ambitious cunning which destroyed House Tarbeck so long ago. In conjunction with their reluctance to undertake the impossible task of overthrowing the Lannisters they decided that she would never know her true heritage. For all intents and purposes, the girl was allowed to believe herself Lilith Miller of a respectable farm several miles within Sarsfield territory. Walderan had decided long ago that he was perfectly fine with his daughter remaining ignorant of her true identity. He could be certain of her safety that way, and many suitable matches had conveyed their interest in a marriage. Though sometimes he suspected that his girl was much too wild for such a thing.

Both of the men were so content with the state of their lives that they forgot almost entirely about one meddlesome individual: Maggy the Frog. The witch of House Spicer might have left Walderan for Ulric to raise, yet she had made him a promise all those years ago. There was power within Lilith's blood, and she would not stop until every bit of potential had been drawn to the surface.

Accordingly, their peaceful world shattered to smithereens when the witch came to visit.

OOOO

There once was a Sarsfield maiden, one of the most beautiful women Westeros had ever seen. Her hair was as brown as the bark of a tree, yet softer than silk from Essos. When she spoke it left the sweet taste of honey on the back of every man's throat. Her father wished to wed her off to a Tully, or even a Tyrell of the Reach, so that he could expand his scope of influence beyond the Westerlands. His daughter did not hold the same ambitions.

She did not like to sit in Sarsfield castle, or to lie around dreaming of her future children. No, this maiden longed to be free as the winds of the Vale, to roam through Northern blizzards, and even dance beneath the wild rains of the Stormlands. So it was no surprise that when her father arranged a contract of marriage with a fat, Tyrell Lord, she fled for freedom. The enraged Lord of Sarsfield sent his fastest horses after the young woman, forcing her to seek refuge within a forest. Deep within the towering trees she hid, staring at the moon, wondering why the Seven had seen fit to curse her so. Driven to madness by the thought of her unfulfilled dreams the Sarsfield maiden dove a dagger into her chest.

Lilith Miller reflected silently on that old tale as she swept gracefully beneath scraggly branches. Most peasants repeated such stories out of fascination for the opulent lifestyles led by nobles. They envied individuals like the Sarsfield maiden for actually having the capacity to dream, an ability they themselves would never possess. When she had been a child Lilith had seen the world from that exact same perspective, but now the young woman felt nothing other than disgust for nobility. A class of drunks, cheaters, liars, crooks, and manipulators who believed themselves superior simply because they had been ripped out of the right cunt.

The back of her hand ghosted over a tree's bark reminding her of the Sarsfield maiden's hair. Lilith loathed that maiden, and often wished that she could remain forgotten in the depths of history like so many others. There were thousands of whores and peasant girls out in the world who would have married ten fat Tyrells just to be born into wealth. To flee their miserable futures on the farms, performing back-breaking labor right up until the moment they died painful, premature deaths. No matter how much Lilith despised that story she always managed to find herself inside of the same forest where the young maiden had supposedly committed suicide.

She never failed to blame it on the blueberries though. A fresh, ripe bush which produced berries that always turned into the best-tasting jam, when Lilith actually felt like putting in the effort. The girl's leather satchel hung from her shoulder occasionally smacking into the pommel of her sword. Slowly her mind began to pivot from the Sarsfield maiden to the immense success she had found that day. Stuffed in the satchel were various herbs, fruits, and even a few wild vegetables which could all be put to use in her cooking. A smile tugged at her pink lips brightening her entire face. Emerald eyes glittering, golden braid sparkling, Lilith came to a very sudden halt.

Her perfectly shaped ears seemed to detect the slightest of disturbances from within the thicket of trees. When nothing was found Lilith dismissed it as a rodent, but she did not dare remove her hand from the worn wrap of her blade. Girls, especially pretty ones like her, needed to keep their eyes wide for any danger. Men with bad intentions were just as lethal as an angry bear. Thankfully the rest of the journey proved to be much calmer with Lilith making her way out of the forest, over several grassy hills, and finally arriving home.

The Millers lived a somewhat abnormal lifestyle. Most peasants struggled to purchase a single stot, so it went without saying that a large herd of destriers and Dornish sand steeds was highly unusual. Yet that was precisely how the small family managed to make a respectable income. Lilith's grandfather, Ulric, was an intelligent man who also happened to be a highly talented horse breeder. No matter how many equestrians he sold, the herd only grew larger. While the girl never truly pieced together how he had procured such expensive breeds in the first place she was unable to complain. Ulric showered her with gifts and made certain that she never wanted for anything.

Silky dresses lay hidden within a trunk at the foot of her bed. Books handwritten by an army of scholars in Oldtown lined her bedroom walls. Lilith even owned a necklace of pearls that Ulric had been able to practically steal from an inexperienced Vale merchant. His most important gift was without any doubt the extensive education he had bestowed upon her. Often Lilith speculated that her grandfather was a disgraced Maester, or even a well-learned bastard, for he was far too skilled in numerous fields to be of smallfolk descent. Honestly there were so many unanswered mysteries surrounding her existence that Lilith tried not to think on it at all for fear of getting a headache.

Instead she would preoccupy herself by assisting her grandfather in his horse breeding, scavenging for food, and practicing sword fighting with her father. Even though Ulric had taught her as a child that young ladies, another oddity, were not supposed to fight it did not stop her father from teaching her. Walder Miller was a strong man with long, blonde hair and many scars. All Lilith knew was that he had taken part in Robert's Rebellion, fighting against the Targaryens even though most men in the Westerlands were more inclined to remain neutral. Sometime towards the end of the war she was born. Even Ulric did not know the name of the woman who birthed her, and all her father ever said was that he had loved her with all of his heart.

During the years since Lilith had been born the Millers witnessed an explosive growth in their fortunes. What was once a ramshackle, old hut transformed into a somewhat luxurious cottage. The small crop of plants that her father cultivated even grew from a simple patch of wheat to a diverse assortment of carrots, barley, oats, and even garlic. Neither of these improvements were quite so impressive as the growth of the Miller herd. Two destriers and two Dornish sand steeds grew into nearly forty of the finest horses in their part of Sarsfield. Lilith took in the sight of her home as she approached down a hill from the ramshackle road that her feet had created over the years.

The sun was sinking into the sky, slowly yet surely being replaced by the moon. On his hands and knees in front of their cottage was her father. He would spent half of the day working with a blacksmith in a nearby village, then upon returning home the man would dedicate himself to the cultivation of his crops. Lilith shook her head upon nearing him, "You work yourself far too much, father." Even though she meant to sound disapproving her voice slunk through the air, somewhat high pitched and breathy, yet a perfect combination of both.

Walder Miller stood, wiping the dirt off his ragged clothing. He grinned at the girl as a brightness filled his green eyes. In the moonlight it was clear that she was the feminine replica of her father. They both shared the same prominently high-cheekbones, aquiline noses, and both were uncommonly tall. Her father was a bit under nineteen hands, towering over every man that they had encountered, except for a select few. Lilith herself was much taller than any woman she had ever met even though she was still significantly shorter than Walder. Despite all of their similarities they did have several differences. While he had a more rounded jaw, her's was commandingly chiseled, and their body shapes were quite distinct as well. Walder was heavily built with many pounds of compacted muscle composing his form, but Lilith seemed much more willowy than stocky. While she was very buxom, to an almost embarrassing extent, what muscle the girl had gained from her combat training did not develop at all like her father's.

He shot a glance at her bulging satchel of scavenged food. "You spend far too much of your time in that forest," Walder smiled fondly, "Yet I never say anything about it…" They pulled into a gentle embrace before stepping back. Lilith brushed off her trousers upon noticing how much grime she was covered in. "Ulric will not be too pleased to see his little Lady in such a state," The giant of a man mocked her gently. She smiled at the way her father's emerald eyes crinkled as he laughed, for most other times the man was distantly stoic.

"We could both get dressed for supper, father," Lilith tsked, making her way carefully through the crops to the cottage. Walder took the hint as he bent back down to finish tending to his beloved plants. The golden-haired beauty stepped into their home with something that could only have been called relief. She moved into the small room where Ulric could usually be found with a book, or making food over the firepit. True to nature Lilith found her grandfather sitting on a chair while stewing a delectable pot of stew. He looked up when she tossed her bag onto the floor by his feet. "I gathered some spices you might like to use, grandfather," Lilith explained.

He smiled in a grandfatherly manner up at her, both of his cornflower-blue eyes bright with doting admiration. Ulric's crinkled hands delved into the bag as he expressed his pleasure with some of her finds. "You did well, as always, my little Lilly." Then the man seemed to notice her state of dress. "Please do not wear trousers to the market tomorrow," Ulric sighed with weary exasperation, "At least try to dress like a woman for once." After extracting a reluctant promise from the girl he bade her to change for supper. She did as told obediently. The rest of the night passed with discussion of how many of their horses Ulric expected her to trade the next morning while her father made boisterous jokes. None of them aware of the shadowy figure staring at their cottage from the darkness, the predator that had stalked Lilith like prey.

OOOO

The next morning came far sooner than the Miller girl expected. Ulric woke her before the sun rose so that they could prepare five of their most trained horses. Then she left with her father for the village where all of the family business was conducted. By the time they arrived to the town the Westerland sun was high in the sky. Walder, like always, stayed around long enough to assist Lilith in setting up before leaving for his job at the forge. Being left alone to face arrogant vassal knights and wealthy merchants did not worry the girl, however. Since she was fourteen Lilith had replaced Ulric as the family trader, having proven herself even more skilled than even her grandfather at selling their wares.

By the time midday passed her silver tongue had managed to sell four of the five horses for a hefty sum of money. All of the buyers were so preoccupied with trying to gain the attention of her captivating, emerald eyes that they soon found themselves the owners of significantly overpriced horses. She stood there, waiting for another lecherous customer to approach the stand so that her long day could come a swift end. Her money pouch hung heavily next to the belt her sword dangled from. Lilith adjusted her skirts swiftly when the sun had reached its highest point in the sky. The girl looked up only to nearly jump back in horrified surprise.

Standing on the other side of her stall was a nasty looking woman. Pale as the moon, squat with what had probably once been a full figure, and she smiled so widely at Lilith that the girl could see her green jowls. Already skeptical of the hag's ability to pay, Lilith simply stared at her with burning, green eyes. "Are you planning to sell Old Maggy a horsie, or are you planning to leave her standing in the sun, pretty girlie?" The revolting creature asked snappily.

Realizing ashamedly that it had perhaps been unfair to judge the woman by appearance Lilith nodded. "This one is a beauty," She tilted her head of blonde hair towards the lone, remaining horse. The white-dotted stallion stared straight back at the customer and seller from where it was tethered. "It is predominantly of destrier lineage," The girl admitted, "Less sand steed blood than most of our stock usually-." Her pitch never even lifted off of the ground.

'Old Maggy' cut her off rudely, warty face screwing up unpleasantly. "I will buy it," She tossed fifteen gold dragons on the wooden counter of the stall causing Lilith to startle slightly. That was an exorbitant amount for a horse worth seven dragons, yet the beautiful young woman eagerly reached for the bounty without any protest. Until a clawed, dirty hand manacled itself around her wrist tightly. "I'll buy it," Maggy continued, "For fifteen dragons, and a favor."

Lilith dropped the coins prompting the old woman to release her very swiftly. Every other merchant in the market that had a pair of eyes in their skull was trying to watch the scene discreetly. "What favor?" The Miller girl demanded, "I am not moronic enough to make promises I have no intention of keeping." She brushed her standard, golden braid off of her shoulder causing it to fall to her lower back.

The haggard woman smiled toothlessly up at the girl. "Join me at the inn down the road for a drink," Her Essos-accented voice croaked, "There are things we must discuss." Lilith glanced between the woman and the fifteen dragons deciding that she could do a lot worse for the sake of money.

OOOO

Lilith Miller stepped into the inn gracefully. Serving girls stopped to stare while visibly drunk farmers visiting town for the market ogled her openly. She mentally acknowledged that it was a rather odd sight for one of the so-called 'stuck-up, unusually well off Millers' to step foot in a pub. Especially the unnaturally beautiful daughter of Walder Miller whom every single man in a mile's radius had dreamt of at least once. Pinching her skirts delicately with her fingers, so to keep them from sweeping across the filthy floor, Lilith peered into the darker corners of the grimy establishment. Her emerald eyes flickered triumphantly upon locating Maggy hunched over a table on the far side of the room.

She marched to the table, all too aware of the nosy townsfolk peering after her. Finally she sat herself down in a rickety little chair directly across from the woman. Lilith was admittedly grateful that they were now at least somewhat hidden by the shadows. "I have arrived as you asked," The girl whispered sharply to the woman, "Now would you mind at least telling me what this is all about?"

Maggy stared at her with steely, brown eyes. "I have observed you over the past week," This caused Lilith to startle the slightest bit, "Trying to piece together what you knew, or did not know of your true identity." Now the youngest Miller was beginning to wonder if it had been terribly moronic of her to follow a clearly insane woman to an inn for fifteen dragons. "I quickly realized that neither of those two fools told you who you are," She continued on her increasingly incoherent rant.

Lilith began to grow queasy, cutting her off. "I am Lilith Miller," The girl snapped evenly, "My grandfather breeds horses, and my father works as a blacksmith. They never needed to tell me anything, for I know perfectly well what my name is."

Maggy seemed to gain a bit of rationality at hearing the girl speak. "Hasn't 'Lilith Miller' ever wondered how her 'grandfather' got his hands on such an unusually fine herd of steeds? Or how remarkable it was that a man such low birth could be so well-learned?" Lilith wanted desperately to shake her head no, but found she could not, for those same questions had been whirling around her head since she was just a child. "The truth, sweet Lilith," She crooned, "Is that he was once a Maester to Tarbeck Hall." Before she could process that tidbit Maggy was talking again. "Unbeknownst to everyone in the world, except your 'grandfather' and father, a witch with the power to see the future visited Ellyn Reyne right before her death."

Lilith could not determine why she was still listening to the woman's berserk rendition of the Tarbeck-Reyne Rebellion. Yet the young woman sat their as her mind pieced many different mysteries in her life together. Ulric _was_ far too educated, especially for a horse breeder, so it did make sense that he could have once been a Maester. "This witch told Lady Ellyn a prophecy," Maggy closed her eyes, "Her granddaughter would be born with the blood of the First Men. Lilith of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne would grow to become the conqueror of the Westerlands." She had not noticed the drink that was sitting in front of Maggy until the woman moved to take a sip from the chipped mug. "Lady Ellyn did not believe the witch's words at first, until the existence of magic was proven to her," She continued the story, "Then the noblewoman began to realize that a sacrifice was necessary, so her great granddaughter could reclaim what Tywin Lannister intended to steal from them."

"Lady Ellyn's daughters fled for the Reach, though they did not escape, she herself was crushed to death, but her grandson Walderan fled to safety," That ugly face glared at Lilith though the girl did not look away. "You must have realized by now that I am that witch, and your father is none other than Waldern Tarbeck, the fourth of his name." Silence hung like a shroud around Lilith's golden head as she stared at the splintering, wooden table. "I doubt that you believe a word I am telling you," Admitted Maggy, "So you go to that nice, little cottage you live in. Look inside the trunk Ulric keeps locked away in his room, then tell me what you think."

The entire situation was so bizarre that Lilith could do naught but nod her head acquiescently.

OOOO

Next Chapter: The Promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Promise.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

The walk home was uncomfortable to say the least. Lilith found herself so occupied by the tale told by the insane hag that she had not even stopped by the forge to bid her father farewell. The golden haired girl wondered if she should bid Maggy's unbelievable story any heed. One part of her brain was vehemently against even contemplating a search of Ulric's room for any evidence. She would be the biggest liar in Westeros, however, without admitting that a part of her believed Maggy. Too many parts of the story had connected with too many missing gaps in her grandfather's past. Even the unusually large bounty of coins jangling inside her bulging money purse could not distract the girl from her dilemma.

When the familiar cottage came into sight Lilith knew that her hour long walk had finally come to an end. Stepping across the sunbaked earth she made her way to the shoddy stables that had been built behind the cottage many years before her birth. Ulric looked up from his difficult task of mucking the stalls when his granddaughter entered. A low whistle pierced the air slightly upsetting some of the horses. "Lilly," The man smiled, "Why am I not surprised that you sold all of the horses? How much did you snatch from the merchants this time?" She did not answer the man verbally at first preferring to toss him the sack of coins.

"Sixty-three dragons," The girl smiled at him, causing her grandfather to drop the bag onto the dirt. She leaned against a post allowing one of her hands to stroke a young mare between its ears. The cool shadows hid her almost entirely from the outside sunlight, yet still her hair glowed brightly. Both of her emerald-green eyes scanned Ulric's features. For the entirety of her life she had wondered how her father and grandfather could have looked so very different. They might have inherited the man's mannerisms along with a few other learned traits, but nothing else indicated their familial connections. In that moment Lilith decided that she could not live with such questions hanging over her head. "I am going to prepare supper," The girl declared to her oblivious grandfather.

Only a few minutes later she was standing inside of Ulric's bedroom, peering in every corner until coming across something suspicious. Hiding beneath the man's rickety old bed was a worn trunk. After sliding the vessel out in front of her she discovered, much to her displeasure, that it was locked. More precious time was wasted as she retrieved several hair pins from her room then struggled for a while to pick the simple mechanism. Lilith knew she looked like a fool for dancing when a click finally resounded through the room, yet she waggled her shoulders anyways at the fortuitous victory. With a quick breath the youngest Miller pulled the lid open as her heart sank heavily.

OOOO

Walder Miller approached his cottage with a weariness shadowing his every step. The man flexed his aching hands wondering whether his side job at the forge was still a prudent hobby. His green eyes fell on the patch of crops that were spiralling up towards the sky with each passing day. Next harvesting season would finally produce enough income to focus fully on farming, Walder suspected, as he stepped through the door. Stomping his boot-clad feet on the mat that Lilith had put together several summers before, he moved into their home. Ulric looked up from where he was sat at the table counting coins, and spoke a swift greeting. The burly man glanced across the room to where his daughter sat next to the hearth bent over a pot of food.

Normally she would drop all of her duties to embrace him, though nothing but silence welcomed Walder in that moment. Curious by his daughter's offputting mood he sat in a chair across from Ulric to help count their wages adding his own bag of silvery stags to the man's already heaping pile of coins. Walder was recounting his currency when Lilith stood to her feet across the room. The flames flickered brilliantly making the girl's hair shine like the sun. That color always calmed Walder when he found himself practically drowning in unpleasant memories. It reminded him of training his little Lilly to wield a sword, teaching her to sell a horse, and reciting bedtime stories long into many nights.

The father became so enraptured by his joyful recollections that he did not notice something only a split-moment later. Instead, Ulric was the one to cry out in horrified shock when Lilith set their bubbling pot of supper on the table with a careless drop. Walder was only snapped to the present by the burning droplets of stew that splattered onto his exposed arms. His beautiful daughter stood with a determined, graceful fury that he had only seen once before. Dangling from her throat was an impressive collection of Maester's links. Both of his green eyes widened in disbelief after she brandished her sword so high that it touched the cottage's ceiling. The Valyrian steel blade of House Tarbeck was resting in Lilith's hands.

None of the three spoke a single word in the silence that followed. For what seemed like hours they all seemed to stare at each other with the stillness of marble statues from the local Sept. Then her blazing green eyes roved over to him with twice as much power as a bucket of wildfire. "You both led me to believe I was nothing more than a Miller," Her voice spat the surname out disgustedly, "Tricked me into believing I was nothing more than a peasant. What do you sick bastards have to say for yourselves?"

Ulric proved capable of only a few desperate splutters before falling silent again. "I wanted better for you," Explained Walder with a stricken look across his handsome face, "A life where you did not look over your shoulder every second of every day! Thinking that the Lannisters were going to capture and execute you at any moment." He wondered how she had managed to figure everything out. Clearly Ulric's trunk had been ransacked, but Walder could not decide what inspired the girl to make such a discovery at all.

Lilith's face contorted into pure hatred, and she swung the blade towards the edge of their table. Unused to Valyrian steel she could only watch when her weapon cut clear through the surface instead of sinking. Both of the men scurried backwards away from her, coins scattering to the floor. "A life where I breed horses, and till a stinking crop of shit until you decide to wed me off to the first peasant that asks?" Her voice sounded more dangerous than it ever had before. "You would have been happy leaving me an ignorant, lowborn simpleton. Just because you could not bring yourself to fight the Lannisters for our titles, home, and security?"

No response came to either man's lips. Lilith glared at them both as though having seen them in an entirely new light. Her father was the maiden of Sarsfield, unwilling to sacrifice whatever was necessary to keep his birthright, _their_ birthright. How many Tarbecks had struggled to gain prosperity, she asked herself, only for one, spineless shit to give it all up? In that moment Lilith found herself no longer able to look at either of them. The men that she had formerly admired with every ounce of her being. She fled the cottage, barely remembering to grab her satchel of possessions from its hiding place.

By the time Walder regained enough sense to chase after her, Lilith was long gone.

OOOO

"Maggy started thinking that the little lion would not be coming," The witch called out as Lilith entered the village. She stood there, squat on the ground, her recently purchased destrier standing obediently nearby. "Have you come upon evidence of the truth, little lion? Or did you just miss Old Maggy?" Maggy asked in a poor attempt at innocence. Lilith slipped off of her horse to look at the woman fully, green eyes looking somewhat defocused. The only answer she gave was to pull down the collar of her shirt, revealing a chain of Maester's links.

"What do I do now," The girl finally spoke in a scratchy voice, "Where does a girl with an all but useless blood claim go?"

Maggy broke out in laughter at that question as though it were a joke. "You are still Lilith Miller, girl," She chuckled throatily, jowls opened wide, "You must learn what it means to be Lilith of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck." Even though the witch lowered her voice at the end to avoid any chances of being overheard the words still struck Lilith with a tempestuous might. They both then proceeded to climb atop their horses, Maggy taking a significantly longer time than Lilith. The girl waited patiently nonetheless staring up at the moon which had risen over the sky. She lost herself in that moment only broken from the trance when her new companion spoke. "Would you like to see magic, girl?" The witch asked, curiosity burning through her brown eyes hungrily.

Lilith was torn back into reality by that one question. Did she wish to see sorcery firsthand? The very same force which had resulted in Ellyn sacrificing her life so that Lilith could one day be born? Just like that she had been motivated back into action. Setting her jaw determinedly she spoke in a resolute tone, "Yes."

OOOO

She had heard the song 'Reyne's of Castamere'. "Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall," Lilith whispered hauntedly, "And not a soul to hear." That final verse stung sharper than it ever had before though it did not carry half the blow that the ruins of Castamere did. Tywin Lannister had drowned her grandmother's family inside the maze of tunnels that extended miles underground. The castle was burned to ruin shortly thereafter leaving nothing but a tightly sealed tomb behind. Was this the mark of a true leader? To show absolutely no leniency? Slaughtering every, single, last servant of House Reyne simply because their Lords had lost a war?

Maggy stood next to her holding both of the horses in place by the reins. They had travelled without pause through the night from Sarsfield to the ruins of Castamere. Early morning light was beginning to break through the night sky prompting the birds to begin singing. "It is time," Maggy spoke swiftly, turning towards her horse to remove several objects from its saddle. Lilith leaned in noticing a candle, book, and a strange bottle in the witch's wrinkled hands. Then stepped forth instantly when her travelling partner motioned to tie up the horses. As soon as the docile creatures were safely secured to a nearby tree, the blonde followed after Maggy.

They marched along in silence until Maggy stopped just before the tomb. "Lie down, girl," She commanded, pointing to the muddy ground, "Rest that fancy, Valyrian sword over your body." Pulling the Tarbeck blade free Lilith decided she was quite happy to have left her house in trousers instead of a dress. Soon enough her back was rested fully in the mud, the light blue and orange hues of the sky bringing out an odd shade to her green eyes. Maggy mumbled in another language which buzzed like a running river. Unbeknownst to Lilith the candle sitting beside her hip lit aflame of its own volition only a moment after Maggy finished chanting.

Every breath seemed to bring a puff of clarity to Lilith's head with every second of silence that passed on by. Her shoulders had just begun to loosen when a very unexpected, shocking thing occurred. The witch poured a viscous liquid across the girl's very surprised head. Sitting up quickly she found herself no longer lying in a puddle of mud, but upon a lavish, reflective floor. Glancing above for the sky Lilith found nothing, save for a very high, vaulted ceiling that sported chandeliers crafted from gold and gemstones. Climbing shakily to both feet the girl found herself wearing an almost uncomfortably revealing, crimson gown laced in gold. "The conqueror of the Westerlands. Lilith Miller," A manipulative, female voice spoke haughtily from behind her.

Lilith spun around in a heavy state of confusion. What sort of magic had Maggy worked, transporting her to a cavernous ballroom? Then her dizzied mental capacities grew even more disoriented upon noting something quite strange. The woman standing only a stone's throw away could have almost been her twin. They had the same fiery eyes, golden hair, nose, and cheekbones. In fact, Lilith heavily suspected that if her own father were to stand alongside the woman they would look like twins. "You seem to know quite well who I am," The girl responded coolly, "I think it is time for introductions."

Her host stepped forwards until they stood an arm's length from one another. Lilith stood her ground with a proud tilt to her chin. All her childhood she wondered why Ulric had forced her to sit through lessons on 'ladylike' etiquette, for Lilith would never be a Lady. Now she understood with perfect clarity why the Maester did it, and a secret part of her was grateful. This woman standing in front of her was clearly a highborn Lady, nothing less than the firmest posture and most artful of language could be used. Though every last bit of Lilith's training proved utterly useless upon the revelation of the woman's identity. "My name is Ellyn, of House Reyne," She announced.

"That is impossible," Lilith protested disbelievingly, "Are you telling me that Maggy transported me to this location. So that I could commune with my long dead, great-grandmother?" Ellyn's stoic demeanor was all the proof that she needed. Placing a hand against her forehead to check if this was all just one, feverish hallucination, Lilith focused on breathing.

"Calm yourself," Ellyn spoke in a reasonable tone, "There is too much for us to discuss, and far too little time to do it." Lilith felt a perfectly manicured pair of fingernails wrap around her wrist as she was pulled gently towards a table that stood nearby. The ghost pushed her into a chair with a calm efficiency though instead of sitting down in the other chair Ellyn stood before her with appraising eyes. "You are quite lovely, more so than I ever was. Perhaps it is the chin and forehead, those come from your mother, as well as the figure," She declared with an appraising hum. Lilith remained silent, far too caught up in her troubled thoughts, though a blush did spread across her cheeks after the remark about her looks.

"We stand in our ancestral seat, Castamere," Remarked Ellyn, "It is almost fitting that I was sent here in the afterlife. To forever be reminded of my origins, and destined to never rise beyond this place." They both glanced around the ballroom for a brief moment enjoying the opulence. "You on the other hand, my precious Lilith, shall achieve what I never managed to. I may have sacrificed my life so you could be born, but now you have been cursed with a terrible fate," Her features seemed to grow sincere for the first time. "The Lannisters sit on their golden perches, and like to think that our strength has been toppled. They believe us long gone, yet the blade you carry, the Father's Gift, is a contradiction to such notions."

"To reveal your identity prematurely is a death sentence, without suitable protection you would be slaughtered instantaneously by Tywin Lannister," She paused, "Yet to gain protection makes you a threat to Casterly Rock. Either steel yourself to play a very deadly game, one that I lost, or go back home to hide in your father's skirts." Lilith stared mutely up at her grandmother, already having made her mind up the moment she rode out of Sarsfield. "In the event that you do decide to follow your destiny, and fight for our heritage," Those green eyes were as sharp as a lance, "It will require a great deal of effort to challenge the Lannister claim. You must not only turn Tywin Lannister's own bannermen against him, but bring every last one of his enemies to your cause."

At this point Lilith summarized the events that had been occurring in Westeros to Ellyn. How Robb Stark, the King of the North, was at war with the Lannisters for the beheading of his father, Eddard Stark. Dark satisfaction blossomed across Ellyn's beautiful face at that. "Find him," The woman commanded, "Turn him to your side no matter what the cost is. Help this King in the North win the Westerlands, so you can take back what is _ours."_ Lilith felt a bit of purpose flood back into her soul at the plan they had managed to draw up. It was easy to claim a stolen birthright in one's head though lacking any plan for actually regaining such titles created quite the identity crisis.

They were just starting to discuss specifics when a sharp tug pulled at Lilith's navel. Something must have visibly changed for Ellyn changed topics rapidly as she bent down before where the girl sat. "They make jokes and songs about the Reynes and Tarbecks. Say that we are long vanquished," Her voice gained a powerful pitch, "Prove them wrong. Trust in Maggy only, and always remember that you are Lilith of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne. Remind Westeros who the true power of the Westerlands is." Darkness swallowed Lilith a split-second later, so thick that her lungs could not fill with air.

She blinked causing the smog of black despair to transform into the ruins of Castamere. The sky was now completely blue without a trace of gold to be seen in the white clouds. "Sit up girl," Maggy said tiredly, helping the stunned girl into a sitting position. In that moment Lilith realized that the mysterious substance the witch had poured upon her sometime earlier was blood. Crimson, red blood covered her clothing. "What did she tell you," Her companion asked curiously despite her exhausted voice.

Unable to look away from the blood she answered with both eyes pointed down, "To remember who I really am." Then in a fit of overwhelmed exhaustion Lilith of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne collapsed into darkness again.

OOOO

On the outskirts of Lannisport there stood a very impressive smattering of trees. Tall, sweeping products of nature that created a perpetual cloud of humidity often mistaken for fog by foreign merchants. Many stragglers hid within these woods, the rejects that were often deemed unsuitable for life in the harbor. Amongst them was a rather unusual occupant. Maggy the Frog was the mother of a rising power in the Westerlands. Her descendants occupied a lavish home in Lannisport located quite close to Casterly Rock, yet Maggy chose to live in a tent in the woods. Practicing petty witchcraft for all that came to her ready to trade away their souls for a glimpse into the future, or to curse their enemies.

In the year of 298 after Aegon's Landing another unusual addition was made to the small community of misfits. Lilith. She found herself waking in a drab, old tent. Filth caked every surface by the layer, as firelight caught every floating mote of dust. Sitting up straight the young woman realized that someone had left her to rest on a crude mattress of leaves. Nervously the girl stood to both feet wincing at the pangs of soreness which stung like needles into her back. Her green eyes fell upon Maggy's bent form across the tiny tent. All sorts of foul ingredients being placed into a boiling pot.

"You were asleep for two days," The witch declared in that usual, short tone, "Nearly killed myself getting your unconscious body to Lannisport." Those brown eyes peered through the dimness to glare crudely at Lilith's body. "Those tits are heavier than mountains, girl!" Thoroughly humiliated, Lilith stumbled across the small space to fall into rickety, moldy stool near where Maggy sat. "The trip into the afterlife can be quite draining, especially when one spends half an hour speaking to the dead," She explained despite her guest's lack of response. "That little trick was called a Projection. Only a powerful witch can hold it for a very long time, something Old Maggy is not."

The older woman smiled hungrily at Lilith, "Your blood is much stronger than mine though. Such strength could keep a Projection going for hours on the end…"

The girl snorted derisively, "I would have to want magic first."

"Magic is not a tool, to be used when wanted," Maggy sneered, shutting the young beauty up, "It is a force that lies within. Whether you like it or not that power hides within your body. So many years ago I witnessed your destiny. Just before the Tarbeck-Reyne Rebellion." The old woman closed both of her eyes, warty face growing remarkably serene. She then began to recite a prophecy, "The Lioness of the seven pointed star shall fall far… Her death will bring victory to the mouth of the ruthless young lord… In her shadow a man will hide with the remnants of a forgotten time… Plastered in crimson blood Lilith of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne shall discover her true name… She will raise the dead, drink the blood and marrow of her fellow man, burn to ashes, drown to mold, suffocate in the earth, and fall through the wind… In the hopes that her bloodline shall rise again…"

"I let your great-grandmother hear that," Maggy nodded, "She made me promise her something shortly before I left Tarbeck Hall. That I would help you learn how to harness this power. The magic that lies dormant inside of your blood."

"Why would you do this?" Asked the weary girl, "What could you possibly have to gain from helping me?" Maggy smiled in that infuriating manner, but little did Lilith know that her great-grandmother had asked the same question many years before then.

The woman did not respond for a moment, pausing to chop something so that it could be thrown into the pot. "I do not have a kind heart," She explained, "What I teach you will not be free of cost. You must promise that when the Lannisters are defeated you will make my family a noble House. With lands, titles, and a home to call our own even if my foolish son does not support you at first." Lilith sat quietly with two expectant eyes boring into her body. One part of her argued that magic was a fairy tale, as the other part of her brain remembered meeting Ellyn. Perhaps, decided the girl, Maggy would be able to teach her something at least a little bit useful.

"I promise."

OOOO

Next Chapter: The Price.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Price.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

Lilith stood in the warm markets of Lannisport, her green eyes locked on the menacing form of Casterly Rock. Most who saw it called the ancestral seat of House Lannister breathtaking while a few others called the Rock intimidating. She could neither admire or fear the ancestral seat of her enemies for it was not befitting the heir of Reyne and Tarbeck. Instead Lilith thought of the structure as a blight on her existence, an obstacle that would one day need to be toppled. "Not a stag more," She snapped herself from her own thoughts, turning to face the greasy-faced merchant. "I will purchase this bow for five dragons."

The man seemed to realize that his unusual customer would not budge. He nodded somewhat unhappily, handing her the bow skillfully carved from weirwood in exchange for the promised coins. Lilith nodded at the man smiling down up her newest weapon. Weirwood produced some of the finest bows known to Westeros, so with the lowered defenses across the North it was unsurprising that merchants were launching secret raids for the material. His lecherous eyes followed her form as she swept away from his stall, yet she did not pull the Father's Gift on him. He had just been bent over backwards by her ruthless trading prowess which seemed punishment enough. Besides, many men in Lannisport seemed to like watching her.

Never in Lilith's life had she been given so many offers to seek employment at a brothel. Unfortunately for the eager flesh-sellers, the captivating beauty was already employed. Over three months had passed since she agreed to train in 'magic' with Maggy the Frog. Lilith was now able to identify every plant worth finding in the Westerlands, speak minimal bits of the Asshai tongue, and produce all sorts of potions. According to the witch, she was nowhere near being ready to actually learn how one used magic. Though every time that Maggy left their shared tent to go visit her Spicer children Lilith would read through the woman's personal collection of books. Magical books.

First she read about Projection, trying to fully understand the mechanics of her journey to meet Ellyn. After gaining a full comprehension of that topic Lilith moved onto many others. Though during her sixth week in Lannisport she forced herself to fight off the bad habit. There were things in those dusty, leather bound tomes which she did not feel comfortable knowing about. Resurrection, torture, curses, and ingredients for incurable poisons that left one on the death bed for hours. Besides, it was hard to imagine that Maggy would be happy to learn of any unauthorized educational exploits.

Lilith wove through the woods of Lannisport making certain to keep herself hidden within the shadows. No one could ever be too certain what kind of dark strangers waited between the trees for an opportunity to pounce. Making sure not to allow her braided hair to catch any branches the girl stepped carefully along a somewhat hidden path. Her face brightened as she finally arrived to the clearing where Maggy's tent stood. Since becoming an occupant of the scummy environment Lilith had managed to greatly improve the tent's conditions. The floors took nearly two days to be completely mucked out. Every surface was wiped completely clean of dust and mold.

Now the tiny window flaps of Maggy's abode sat open showering Lilith's surroundings in bright light. Reveling in the cleanliness that she had brought upon the dank space the blonde set her belongings on the table. The weirwood bow resting gently against the bag of exotic herbs Maggy had bade her to gather in the market. She then sat on her rickety chair at the large table beginning the arduous process of sharpening the Father's Gift. Though such a thing was not necessary for Valyrian steel, Lilith always felt calmer running a whetstone along her weapons. Her eyes flickered up a moment later as she noticed Maggy standing bent in the entrance to the tent, staring.

"Set that silly thing aside," The witch suddenly snapped, "Then clear off the table. It is time for you to learn something useful." Wondering, with desperate hope, if Maggy intended to teach her magic Lilith did as instructed. "You are familiar with the projection I used at the Castamere Ruins, yes?" The girl nodded measuredly in an attempt to hide any unwelcome smiles from crossing her pink lips. Honestly, Lilith was more than familiar with the concept of Projections. She did not, however, have a practical understanding which seemed to be what Maggy intended to impart upon her. No more words were spoken for several minutes while the witch scurried about collecting materials for their lesson. Soon enough the formerly clear table was smattered with odd objects.

A bowl carved with strange ruins rattled next to a tightly stoppered bottle which stood firmly in place alongside a tiny dagger. Gnarled hands clawed themselves around Lilith's milky wrists. She glanced up from the table to lock gazes with Maggy who now stood next to her. During the previous three months Lilith had found herself no longer unsettled by the woman's repulsive appearance, and instead blinded to it. Maggy was a fiercely clever woman who had proved herself worthy of Lilith's loyalty at least three times over. "Before you begin," Her Essos accented voice flowed with a soothing lilt, "I must warn you. Magic is in your blood, yet it comes at the cost of a great sacrifice. From the first time you call to it, this mighty force shall lay its seed and grow as tall as a tree. Are you willing to pay the price?"

"I haven't sat here for three months to just give up," Lilith spat defiantly, she had read of the price for magic. Nothing could intimidate her. Maggy smiled, but not in a mocking or insincere manner, this was absolutely genuine. The girl could have sworn that many years later she would still be unable to forget that haunting expression. Pointing her chin towards the witch she spoke once more in a determined tone, "Tell me what to do."

Surprise pumped through Lilith's frozen body when Maggy shook her head. "I know you have been reading my books, girl," Her cackle reverberated throughout the tent, "You should be able to figure this out on your own." With a nervous nod the blonde turned away from the witch to face the objects which sat on the table. Anxious itches suddenly sprouted across her scalp prompting Lilith to tug her braid of golden hair into loose waves. Breathing deeply she used the dagger to slash the palm of her left hand deep enough that a river of blood poured forth. Clenching her teeth together she used her other hand to unstopper the bottle that Maggy had prepared.

Wincing at the stinging sensation it left across her open wound Lilith poured the concoction over her hand. Her green eyes hardly observed as the multicolored liquid sloshed messily into the bowl. She was far too busy trying to properly string together a complex chant of Asshai verbs into comprehensible sentences. Then she stopped, waiting for Maggy to tell her the name. This was a more standard Projection, for instead of showing the dead it allowed one to spy on a certain person. When no suggestions were provided to her she decided on a name of her own choosing, "Robb Stark." Then without any further pause Lilith shoved her face into the disgusting bowl as a shadow engulfed everything in the tent.

OOOO

Everything seemed muted, as though she were alive yet not really meant to exist. Lilith found herself pressed through time and space as her green eyes observed the sight she had been transported to. A handsome man sat in a chair, his face plastered with one of the most weary expressions Lilith could recall ever having seen. Putting two and two together she realized that this was the Wolf King. Across the Westerlands the name Robb Stark was greatly feared. Mothers were already starting to tell their children cautionary tales of the Northern King who could transform into a wolf. Maidens feared for their fathers, brothers, and betrothed who faced him on the battlefield. Now Lilith stood close enough to touch him.

He was not a feral man-beast, nor did any of the other rumors appear to be true. His eyes were such a riveting shade of blue that Lilith feared she might have drowned on the spot. Even though she could not feel it a gentle breeze poured in from the open window grabbing at his silky, black hair every so often. Robb Stark was certainly a prize, decided Lilith, though she was never one to judge by looks alone.

Her opportunity to properly size the young wolf up came only a short while later when a woman entered the room. She soon recognized the woman's auburn hair, blue eyes, and age as the characteristics of Lady Catelyn Stark. The redhead had most certainly been a beauty in her youth, and even at a latter age was still attractive. Lilith listened intently to the conversation between the mother and son, the former wishing to return North for Winterfell where her youngest children waited. Though when Robb instead ordered the woman to parlay with Renly Baratheon her grief was instantly evident. They bickered back and forth for a small period of time, 'But I haven't seen him since he was a child!' Then the King would say with those Tully eyes, 'Better than most of my advisors could claim.'

Overall it was somewhat tiring. Lilith soon found herself trying to make sense of the battle plans sitting before the young wolf, half-heartedly listening to them squabble. Theon Greyjoy could not be trusted, the youngest Stark girls were more important than Jaime Lannister, so on and so forth. She did learn some useful tidbits such as how Robb had been betrothed to a Frey girl as well as his plans to march westward with a portion of his forces. Soon Catelyn departed from the room leaving Robb to continue mulling over the papers with a handsome sulk on his attractive face. Deciding that nothing more could be gleaned from the Wolf King she opened her mouth wide.

A sloppy sentence in Asshai proved enough to send her vaulting from the cold suspension in space into her body. Deep breaths racketed along through Lilith's trembling body. Rivulets of the bowl's putrid liquid dripped from her face to the scratched table. A strange tiredness had settled deep inside of her body though it did not linger amongst her flesh and bone. Instead it cut deeper into her very soul. The girl could remember having felt physically exhausted, tired from sword fighting with her father in the yard, yet this was a weariness as deep as a Northern winter. Suddenly the hazy, somewhat protective bubble vanished from around her skull allowing an explosion of light and sound to strike Lilith's head violently.

She fell from the seat into an unconscious slump on the floor of Maggy's tent, golden hair splashed about the ground as her fingers curled into the dirt.

OOOO

The maesters of Oldtown believed with every ounce of their beings that magic no longer existed in Westeros. Ulric had instilled that belief in Lilith from a young age, as he drilled his knowledge into her head one link at a time. Yet the man she had always thought of as a grandfather proved, for the first time in her life, absolutely incorrect. Magic existed everywhere, so brilliantly beautiful that Lilith wondered how she had ever managed to live without it. Ever since she Projected herself for the first time almost a month earlier the girl felt the entity's constant pressure at her fingertips. Waiting to be put to use, and put it to use she did.

With every waking moment the girl found herself trapped in a hazy cloud of boundless experimentation. At least once a day she Projected herself across Westeros to spy on the most influential figureheads to be found across the nation. The Tyrells, Stannis Baratheon, Tywin Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, as well as the Martells of Dorne. All of them would soon become personally acquainted with her name, but Lilith refused to walk into their treacherous games uneducated. Though like any muscle Projection needed to be strong before it could be used so frequently, so the girl tried to balance herself. She would practice her swordplay, attempt different types of magic, or even take small breaks lounging on the beach in the sun.

Whenever Maggy did not have her trapped in that tent for lengthy lessons. 'You have grown wild, girl,' The witch would chastise stringently, 'Playing with a force that you do not understand.' Lilith always found herself incapable of disagreeing with that argument, for the first time in her life she felt absolutely free. Though a small, irrational part of her soul never stopped resenting Maggy for trying to impose control over her newfound gift. In the end, however, she chose to remain the little Lady that Ulric had trained her to be. So it was with the thought of the noble blood still remaining in her veins that Lilith subjected herself to one of the most frustrating tasks on earth; Levitating a stone.

"Aesiyr," She seethed with a sullen tone, "aesiyr, aesiyr, AESIYR!" The stone sitting on the table rattled for a brief moment before becoming motionless once more. Lilith groaned, allowing her head to slump down to the racked table.

"Power means nothing without control," Maggy said from across the tent, "Even an army of one-hundred thousand men would be crushed without a leader to guide the way." The girl sat up straight in the chair once more to level a green eyed glare in her instructor's direction. Maggy stared right back with a disgusted look plastered across her warty face. "I did not agree to train a weakling," The witch declared firmly, "Get this spell right or scurry back to Sarsfield." They sat there for a long time, both of them all too acutely aware of the anger that was spreading across Lilith's pretty face. Nothing infuriated the girl more than the idea of a life spent in Sarsfield, cowering like a rat while hiding her newfound self from the world.

She tossed her head back suddenly, the candles spread about the tent casting a glow across her golden skin. No sounds passed through Lilith's ears except for the rackets of her breaths rising and falling. There was none of the familiar anticipation that had been lining the girl's stomach ever since she awoke her magic a month earlier. Loose, tranquil emotions swirled amidst a furious determination to prove to Maggy that she was more than a Miller. " _Aesiyr_ ," She whispered softly, opening her green eyes to find the stone spinning wildly in the air. A smile spread across both of Lilith's pink lips at the long overdue sight.

Even Maggy's standard insult about how much time it had taken did not remove the giddy feeling from her chest. With her second spell mastered the blonde started trudging further through the ocean of magical knowledge hidden in her teacher's home. According to Maggy the books, or grimoires as she called them, were extremely valuable compendiums of magical knowledge that she stole while back in Essos. Maegi were apparently capable of wasting their entire lives away recording discoveries into a single book. Lilith shivered at the realization that there were at least fifty Maegi across the Narrow Sea who probably wanted vengeance for the theft of such remarkable tomes. Nonetheless, she continued to read through them every day in addition to Maggy's daily errands.

In the mornings she found herself expected to gather Maggy's ingredients along the markets. By the time afternoon rolled around she ended up meditating on the beaches of the Lannisport with Maggy. Overall the process was entirely frustrating, for she was proving almost incapable of falling into the 'higher plane' of spiritual balance. Then in the evenings while her tutor lay deep in sleep Lilith would sneak out of the tent to practice with her Valyrian sword, or explore the streets of Lannisport from the shadows. She always made certain to stay well away from any light during her midnight excursions, for the last thing Lilith needed was to run into the City Watch.

On the fourth month of her stay with Maggy the Frog this firmly established schedule was disrupted in an unexpected way. "You will be attending a feast with me this evening," The witch explained as soon as Lilith returned from her daily trips to the market. This of course sent the young girl into a furious pace as she tried to make herself presentable for such an event. By the time the sun was setting over Lannisport the pair were walking side by side through Lannisport. Maggy had, per usual, refused to bathe, and wore her stained robes, warty face hidden underneath a hooded cloak.

Lilith swept proudly through the streets in a gown that Ulric had purchased for her a year earlier. It was crimson with gold lacing crafted from the softest, sheerest of silks. Now that the girl was aware of her heritage she wondered whether Ulric had purposefully chosen Reyne colors. Lilith's mind instantly began to swim painfully through memories of her father, pseudo-grandfather, and Sarsfield. Thankfully they arrived to the Spicer residence soon after this mental bombardment started, wrenching her back from such sad recollections. Maggy's kin lived in a towering structure located in the center of Lannisport's wealthiest markets. Apparently the majestic structure was previously a brothel until Tywin Lannister illegalized prostitution in his port.

After nearly three years of remodelling the opulent building was transformed into a place fit to be called home by House Spicer. Neither of the two even needed to knock on the well polished front door, as a maid opened it for them. Maggy strode inside as though she owned the place tracking filthy footsteps across the formerly clean floors. Smiling sympathetically at the distressed servant Lilith followed close behind making sure to keep a tight grip on her scarlet skirts. They had only just made their way into a massive entry room when a young woman of obvious Essos descent greeted them. She was quite pretty, and undeniably pregnant. Her hand placed across her bursting belly in a protective manner until Maggy stepped forwards to grasp at the bump. "You will have son," She declared, "Of golden hair, and brown in the eyes."

The woman smiled brilliantly, leaning forwards to wrap Maggy in a tight hug despite the filth practically oozing off of her body. "Thank you, grandmother," She proclaimed with a voice as sweet as honey, "All I want is to make Gerold happy. A son will most certainly accomplish such a thing." They stepped away from each other prompting Maggy's granddaughter to look Lilith's way. "I am Anise Lannister," The woman introduced herself, "My husband, Gerold, is the second son of Tyor Lannister of Lannisport."

"This is Lilith Miller," Maggy said somewhat dismissively, "I have been training her in the studies of medicine." It was clear from the looks they exchanged that it was not acceptable to discuss magic in the Spicer household. Anise smiled somewhat tightly, as she eyed the blonde scrutinizingly, "You are quite beautiful, Lilith. More so than any of our other guests I might even dare to say." Then before she could return the compliment Anise spun around, leading them through the cavernous residence until they were standing in a modestly sized feast hall. Handsome men danced with beautiful maidens, as the musicians plucked at their instruments from the galleries. Maggy was pulled away by some Spicer relatives leaving Lilith to her own devices.

She eventually found herself standing on the edge of the room with a glass of Dornish wine clasped tightly in hand. With each sip Lilith felt light enough to float into the heaven, yet not to the extent that she was willing to dance. Many men, both chivalrous and lecherous, hounded her for a spin around the center of the feast hall until they began to notice her unwillingness to participate. She was halfway through her second glass of the sweet, red liquid when a voice easily broke the tranquil isolation. "You remind me greatly of someone," A greying-blonde woman stood in the light, her figure was quite plump. Lilith noted that they both wore gold and red, but the woman's was in a distinctly more Lannister pattern. "Almost as though you were her daughter, or granddaughter," She continued to muse with a dangerous edge to her voice.

Lilith realized for a quick second that she had never in her life more clearly resembled Ellyn Reyne. Everything from her dress up to her hairstyle seemed to have been inspired by the deceased noblewoman. "My lady, it is highly unlikely for you to remember having ever met one of birth so low mine," The girl assured soothingly, "I am certain that any resemblance is merely a coincidence." She smiled with demure submission, "Unless you have been through the villages of Sarsfield recently?" They stared each other down, Lilith's fiery-green eyes boring into the woman's slightly muted pair.

What is your name, child?" Asked the woman sharply, stepping ever closer to continue her thorough inspection of the girl's face.

"Lilith Miller, my lady," Lilith answered, her intertwined braids shaking all the way down her ramrod straight spine with each word. "May I so boldly enquire as to whom I am speaking with?" The party continued on in Lilith's peripheries at a blinding speed causing her knees to wobble from dizziness.

"Genna Lannister," A predatory smile spread across her face, "I must say it is quite so _pleasant_ to have met a beauty such as yourself. Lilith Miller, I daresay I shall remember such a name for many years to come…" The girl felt herself trembling though every fibre of her being went into the parting curtsey she sent in Genna Lannister's direction. She stood before a Lannister, one of those very same lions that had not hesitated to strike down her bloodline. Lilith stood tall once more despite her newfound fear as she analyzed every detail in the nearby vicinity. Genna Lannister would not pose much of a physical threat, for Lilith's sword training meant she was much stronger than most other women. No less a pudgy woman accustomed to a lazy life in Casterly Rock.

No, the Lannister guards that were stealthily approaching her seemed to be a far greater concern. In that moment Lilith realized that Genna somehow recognized her for who she was the second she stepped into the Spicer's feast hall. Perhaps, the girl realized in a panicked rush, she resembled Ellyn Reyne more closely than she had previously believed. Shaking herself free from mental discord the blonde focused instead on trying to figure out how to escape from her approaching execution. Her father instructed her in fighting to the best of his ability, so even though there was no sword at her waist the girl knew that there were other, nastier methods of survival. The wine glass fell from her hand to the floor where it shattered into hundreds of little pieces.

Genna attempted to run, but her adversary was much faster. Lilith lunged for a knife sitting on the table prior to grabbing the Lannister woman by her hair. All six guards rushed forwards with their blades pointed forwards only to come to jarring halts. Tywin Lannister's sister ordered them back while the knife pressed tightly into her fat neck drawing blood. "Let me pass," Lilith roared, "Unless you want me to cut her like a pig." Unsurprisingly the men all stepped aside allowing her to slowly drag Genna's flailing body from the feast hall. Her emerald eyes scoured around for Maggy though the witch was nowhere to be found.

Right when the girl stepped into the entry hall of the Spicer residence she let loose a guttural scream. A soldier sporting the Lannister lion glared down at her, his crossbow shaking after having loosed a bolt into her shoulder. Lilith could only watch from the floor as Genna tottered away towards her guards. The entirety of House Spicer's guest list peered worriedly from the banquet room at the scene which was unfolding before them. "I WANT THAT REYNE _WHORE'S_ HEAD!" Her former hostage wailed like a harpy. At the name Reyne the onlookers began to buzz conspiratorially with one another. An armor-clad man neared the spot where Lilith was spread across the stone floor.

Blood dripped from her wound painting the surface a ruby-red. She knew that there was only one option of escape still available to her, though it was highly undesirable. Lilith pushed herself to both feet, wobbling all the way up from the ground. Her ears picked up on the distinct sound of the crossbow-wielding soldier preparing to fire once more. "Aesiyr," She whispered willing the bolt to fire not in her direction, but towards the approaching guard instead. When her green eyes opened he was lying beneath her, blood streaming profusely from his forehead. The other guards seemed to have been jump started back into action by her display of magic. Lilith knew that her fate was sealed though she refused to go out so easily.

Picking up the fallen soldier's blade, grimacing at the pain which spread across her wounded arm, she cross stepped towards the man with the crossbow. He fell easily, still frozen in shock at the way his own weapon had turned against one of his comrades. The first guard to reach her dealt a series of devastatingly powerful blows until she exploited a weakness in his stance. His body was hardly on the floor when she turned to face the next one. Soon enough her sword was sticking out of the back of his armor. Lilith did not bother tugging the weapon back out choosing to borrow a dagger from his belt instead. Ignoring the encroaching crowd of guards into the room she locked her gaze on Genna Lannister once more.

In a mere matter of minutes the beastly woman had managed to unravel Lilith's entire life with a single suspicion. No matter what horrors the guards would no doubt inflict upon her the beauty preferred a shot at taking something precious away from the Lannisters, just like they did to the Reynes and Tarbecks. "AESIYR," She wailed in an eardrum shattering scream, throwing the dagger like one would a spear in Genna's direction. As soon as the metal sunk into her head the woman began to vomit a tidal wave of foul, bodily liquids. The shrieking chants of, 'Bury the Reyne witch,' were permanently silenced. Seconds later Lilith found herself surrounded by armed men.

The front doors of the Spicer home were thrown open soon later when the City Watch arrived to secure the premises. Noblewomen could be heard screaming in distress, Lords hurled slanderous insults at the 'Reyne sorceress', all while Lilith found herself being forcibly dragged into the streets of Lannisport. They dragged her near unconscious body to the beach in a frenzied display of rage. In rapid succession she was completely bound as a trio of men dug a pit six feet down into the beach. Despite the foggy tiredness pressing down on her head Lilith knew what they were about to do to her. If luck truly favoured her she would die without being raped by four diseased Lannister men.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as they dragged her to the pit. One of her captors pawed greedily at her body through what was left of the now tattered dress. "I am going to fuck-," He started until one of the other men pulled her from his grasp, and tossed her into the hole like a sack of potatoes. She stared up at the starlit sky as they bickered kicking clouds of blinding sand down onto her gagged face.

"Everyone knows you don't fuck witches, boy," An older man barked, "They can send a jet of flame down onto your cock!" At that the small crowd erupted into raucous laughter, almost as though they all never considered committing the same atrocity. Without much further ado the guards all set about burying her alive. Eventually Lilith sucked in a last breath when total darkness, the likes which she could not recall ever having experienced, descended like winter. She wondered frantically if this was what it felt like to die. Her last thoughts were of her father, grandfather, and a cottage that she would never again call home. Only seconds later sand began to pour throughout her lungs.

Lilith was dead.

OOOO

This chapter took me way too long to figure out. There were so many details that I had to wade through so it could end at just the right place. I promise that the plot will start to get much more exciting from this point on. Please review!

Next Chapter: The Dream.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Dream.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

 _Lilith stared with an awestruck gaze at the Sept of Ashemark. Never in her life could the child ever recall having seen such massive, sweeping architecture. Clutched in her hand was a lavish copy of 'The Seven Pointed Star' that Ulric had bought from a merchant in front of the Sept. A surge of fondness rushed across the young girl's heart for her grandfather as she allowed her thumb to stroke the leather cover. Looking back up Lilith grasped ahold of his hand while they walked through a very long hallway into the Sept. Midday mass finished hours beforehand, so they were the only ones to inhabit the worship room. "Not much further, Lilly," Ulric smiled down at her, "The Ashemark Sept is much grander than the one in Sarsfield."_

 _She nodded her head for what seemed the thousandth time in unsure agreement. All her grandfather would speak of on their journey north was how this Sept was the greatest in all of the Westerlands. Aside from the one in Casterly Rock, of course, though for some unspoken reason her grandfather and father refused to ever set foot in that city. Suddenly the hallway came to an end, the young Septa leading the way opened the door for them with a smile. Lilith gasped at the sight that awaited her emerald-green eyes. The room was a circle of seven distinct walls. Massive windows allowed the sun to shine through in a blinding wave of golden illumination. Ulric immediately went to the Crone, his favored deity._

 _Lilith stumbled over to the Maiden as was expected of her. She mumbled the obligatory prayer that she always did. Her gaze then flicked over to the more exciting statues. The Warrior stood in all of his muscular glory, a strapping face carved from marble snarled vengefully down upon her. The girl always stopped by the Warrior's altar even though Ulric mightily disapproved of such worship. No matter how many times he insisted that children did not belong worshipping something so brutal she refused to break the habit. Her father belonged to the Warrior's domain having served in Robert's Rebellion._

 _Normally after the Warrior she moved onto the Mother to pray for the unnamed woman that she would never meet. Something gave her reason to pause. In Sarsfield the Septons were extremely superstitious, especially with regards to the Stranger. Never before had she seen a statue, or even a figurine in the Stranger's likeness, yet here it was. The hooded, genderless figure stood in a heavy cloak with skulls in its hands. At the base of every other statue in the Ashemark Sept were a multitude of lit prayer candles. Not a single one flickered by the Stranger's feet. Crossing both arms Lilith turned to observe Ulric from his perch beneath the Father focused only on a very advanced prayer. Perhaps, the child mused, the Stranger would be a better method of respecting her mother's memory._

 _Kneeling upon the steps she stared upwards at the marble figure. Soon enough the candle was lit, and 'The Seven Pointed Star' opened to a hymn appropriate to the Stranger. "The light is good, the light is great," She started to recite softly, "Though darkness shall swallow it all on a fast approaching date. May my heart be open to the Stranger's knife, so it may one day collect my soul with its never waning might." At this point she placed her blonde head against the stone floor while whispering a message so softly that none could hear. "I long more than anything to meet you mother," Her body trembled at finally speaking the words, "May we embrace when the Stranger sees fit." Tears now coursed down Lilith's cheeks freely as she sat up to face the cloaked deity once more. Instead there was darkness, swirling like a fog while she floated through its thin mass._

 _Off in the distance there were pinpricks of light which Lilith could only think of as stars. Her green eyes observed everything with a mindless interest. Was she dead, the girl wondered mentally. The Septons always spoke of burning hells where the wicked rotted in perpetual torment, but she did not believe herself to be in such a place. Lilith mildly recalled the experience of being buried alive, so she was most certainly dead. Perhaps, she mused, the Seven did not exist. Mayhaps everyone spent eternity floating in a dark void. In that moment of uncertainty she felt a mighty tug wrench her through space itself. This time the blonde did not find herself in another memory. Instead she stood in a field of green grass next to a rushing river. The sky rumbled with thunder threatening to release an onslaught of rain from its grey depths._

 _A woman stood ramrod straight, head tossed back in the face of nature's impending wrath. Her head of brown hair flowed like silk in the dancing gusts of wind. The train of her beautiful, long, purple dress pulling backwards in rippling patterns every few moments. Suddenly she turned to face Lilith with a genuinely joyful smile plastered over her chiseled features. The silver clasp of her cloak which resembled some sort of bird bounced about with each violent tug. For some odd reason the prayer Lilith had recited to the Stranger so long ago started to echo in her head once again. Then, without any warning the richly clad woman vanished only to reappear within striking distance of her. Even if there were not a force compelling her to stay in place Lilith would not have shifted an inch anyways._

 _Calm like she had never felt before rushed across her body in waves. "I long more than anything to meet you my daughter," Tears shone in the woman's magnificent, grey-blue eyes, "My sweet babe has grown into a creature of beauty, and wisdom rivalled by none."_

 _Her gaze hardened into something reminiscent of Valyrian steel, "Now fly my eaglette. Rise above all others. Higher than anyone ever has flown before." Lilith took in every detail of her mother's face while two, soft hands took firm hold of her face. Darkness fell as soon as the kiss touched her pounding forehead._

OOOO

Lilith jerked violently despite the bonds restricting her movement, and the fact that only several moments earlier she had been quite dead. Sand coated every part of her body while her strangled gasps for air threatened to send her straight back into the afterlife. Move, she thought desperately trying to project her magic into the sand surrounding her body. Her eyes started to roll into her head while darkness threatened once more to snatch her away from the living world. Let me out, something finally shifted in the mass of sand. Lilith's magic pulsed through her fingertips stronger than it ever had before. Every last grain of sand exploded upwards high into the sky allowing a swathe of sunlight to pour over her bound body.

Bile rushed out of Lilith's mouth consisting of sand and Dornish wine. When the torrent of repulsiveness came to a halt she started to greedily suck in deep gulps of air. Her ensuing, psychotic breakdown only lasted for a short while until her head started to function again. No doubt people would have noticed six feet worth of sand blasting upwards from the beach. Hence, she knew it would not be long until the City Watch arrived to inspect the scene. Pushing herself against the side of the pit Lilith slowly rose to both feet. "Dracarys," Her voice was husky with the sound of death. The words still proved sufficient, for enough flame was produced to burn her bonds apart. Stumbling all the way up she hoisted herself up over the side of her murder site.

Then without wasting a single second Lilith stumbled away towards the streets of Lannisport. Knowing that people would notice her sand-covered, bloodstained, torn dress she kept close to the buildings. Travel proved to be quite slow though with her weak limbs struggling to trudge forwards through the bustling life of the city. Trying to look as normal as possible Lilith trudged along at a snail's pace towards the woods. Inevitably she found herself standing in front of Maggy's tent what felt like hours after having awoken from death. Swaying on the spot she started forwards until stopping in the crisp of shade of the tent.

Her hands immediately began to tear at the ragged colors of House Reyne which clung to her body. Soon enough Lilith stood there, in front of Maggy's table, naked as the day she was born. The girl did not know how long she stood in that spot staring mindlessly at nothing in particular. By the time Maggy arrived to this pitiful scene Lilith had absently noticed the sun's glow lessen with each inch it sunk back into the sky. "I have been looking for you all day long, my child," The witch admitted, "Though I suppose I should have known you would come running back here-."

"You let Genna Lannister's soldiers kill me," Lilith cut off in a listless tone, "When I needed help you did nothing." No response came, as Maggy simply stood still for a very long moment before making her way over to the hearth to start preparing supper. The silence ate away at the catatonic state which fixed Lilith firmly in place reminding her a little too strongly of death. So she forced her tired body to gather the hygienic supplies necessary for a bath as well as a fresh change of clothing. The bathing house of Lannisport was simply not an option when all Lilith wanted was to clean herself in privacy.

Eventually the blonde arrived at the bubbling spring near Maggy's tent that she enjoyed visiting on especially taxing days. Soon enough her troubles were forgotten in the crisp waters which soothed her aches. The bar of soap managed to scrub away all of the filth coating Lilith's skin though the feelings on the inside were much more difficult to remove. By the time she finished bathing her hair was glowing like gold once again. Unlike the last one, her new, green dress did not carry any resemblance to the color of blood allowing Lilith to look down at her own body without gagging. Now feeling much less disoriented she set about walking back to the tent in search of much needed answers.

Maggy sat at the table nursing a bowl of steaming stew. When Lilith opened her mouth to demand answers the insufferable woman raised a finger to both lips, "Sit." She waited patiently in the chair while the witch slowly slurped at the bowl of steaming broth. Maggy did not take long to finish, slapping her wooden dish down on the table. "You will listen to me child," She instructed with an unyieldingly firm voice, "No interruptions or I shall leave your many questions unanswered." That was incentive enough to keep Lilith's mouth firmly shut in place. "You told me that you were willing to pay the price for magic. Your death last month was the price, a test some might say." At learning that she was dead for a month the girl nearly uttered a noise of surprise, but remembered herself quickly.

"All humans are born shells. Prevented from casting our minds into the higher planes which magic originates from," Maggy smiled in a sinister sort of way, "Only death can break these oppressive walls." Her Essos-brown eyes crinkled, "The greater force exerts its influence over destiny to guide prospective Maegi towards struggles which cannot be overcome. Only those found worthy of the gift are resurrected." Lilith shivered at the idea of being tugged around like a puppet by the universe. "There are a number of ways that Maegi can die, each representing an aspect of magic. In the time that one lies entombed within their respective element the barrier which encloses the mind erodes."

"You were trapped in the earth for a month," The witch brought Lilith's circumstances into the discussion, "An unusually long amount of time. It means that the greater force either deliberated intensely over your worthiness, or wanted to rub your barriers down completely. I would not be surprised if you could cause the earth to quake with some training." Surprisingly a hand reached across the table to rest sympathetically over Lilith's trembling ones. "There is some time before your next Price. I suggest you spend it trying to come to terms with this process," Maggy advised in what was clearly intended to be a soothing voice.

"What do you mean, before my next Price!" Lilith wrenched backwards, chair skidding across the dirt floor. "Am I to die again?"

"Aye, you will die at least four times over my girl," The witch seemed willing to ignore that interruption, "It was foreseen nearly forty years before your conception. Your foes shall bury you in the earth until your lungs drown in sand. They shall leave you in a river to turn to mold. A gust of wind shall break every bone in your body. Fire shall consume every, last, golden hair on your head leaving only ashes behind. Most Maegi would murder for a chance to break so many of their barriers, but the smarter ones shiver with fear. Much like you do in this very moment." Even though the sun was still high Lilith felt terribly cold. "Dying even once changes people drastically," Maggy explained in a cautionary tone, "Four times? That is unprecedented, and sure to leave a heavy mark on your young soul."

"Why would this 'greater force' choose me?" The girl asked, "How is the last, remaining heir of an exiled house worthy of magic?"

"Magic has been in your blood from birth, your ancestors were blessed with it long before the Andals crossed the Narrow Sea. Though you should know that there are forces which reside within the greater force, worshipped by some as deities," Her voice wavered in a speculating way. "Weaker Maegi will often sacrifice their freedom to these beings in the hopes that it would give them some chance of surviving the Price. I suspect, however, that one took a liking to you." That was almost worse to hear than the fact that she had been dead for nearly a month. Lilith wondered momentarily if the Price of magic was truly worth paying. "If that is the case then it worked through me to deliver a prophecy into the world. Resulting, eventually, in your birth, but for whatever specific reasons I am uncertain."

They sat there is complete silence listening to the birds twittering noisily in the forest beyond. In that moment the flaxen-headed girl remembered something rather suddenly. "I saw a woman while I was dead. She called me her daughter," Lilith admitted. Maggy looked up slowly, though seemed very unsurprised by the revelation.

"Sometimes during the Price our loved ones can contact us from the higher realms," Her warty face crinkled, "That woman most certainly was your mother. Though it…." Lilith did not listen to Maggy ramble on, for thoughts were whirling around her mind at a dizzying speed. Every detail of, who she now knew to be her mother, was seared into the girl's mind like a painting. All throughout the day she had been piecing the clues together in the back of her head. The cloak-clasp fashioned in the shape of a bird, her mother's purple dress, how she had told Lilith to 'Rise Above the Rest'. Those were not just lovely nothings, but House words.

She remembered sitting in the cottage as a child while Ulric forced her to memorize nearly every single House in Westeros. The Mallisters of Seagard sported banners of a silver eagle on a purple field, and their words were 'Above the Rest'. Now Lilith found herself gasping for breaths in disbelief at the truth she had just discovered. The beautiful woman her father told her of as a child was no whore, or serving wench, and her entire family still lived within the halls of Seagard. In the face of her revelation Lilith expected to dream, that evening, of a lovely Mallister woman dancing before a rushing river.

Instead she dreamt of a burning cottage, and the savage dismemberment of her father's body. Only waking when Maggy placed a hand over her mouth to silence a series of agonizingly pained screams.

OOOO

Lilith sat at the table trapped in a trance while Maggy marched about the tent in a half-awake sleep collecting various objects. Only one word registered any meaning in her head, 'green dream'. The grimoires spoke often of prophetic dreams, visions into the past, present, and future. This did not bode well for her father, or grandfather, Lilith realized over and over and over again. Her horrible cycle of despair came to a momentary halt when Maggy approached the table with a steaming concoction. "Are they really dead? Were my father and grandfather murdered?"

Maggy seemed to respect her enough to at least avoid lying. "Tywin Lannister sent out letters all across the Westerlands the same week you were buried," There was no longer any taunting to be heard in her voice, "He called for the murder of any Millers to be found in Sarsfield. Especially ones associated with a witch named Lilith." The sorceress seemed to anticipate tears, screams, swearing, or even self-harm. Instead there was cold, bitter silence. Green eyes that were once full of life seemed to smolder into something reminiscent of wildfire.

"Tell Anise not to go anywhere near Casterly's Courtyard today, and to collect anything she shall miss," Lilith gave the directions in a detached, clinical tone. Maggy still stood there leaning onto her cane in a visibly bewildered state. "You have until sunset," Her voice rung with deceptive sweetness, "Do not waste it." She then picked her way deliberately over to where the grimoires were hidden. Long after Maggy left Lilith was still spread across the floor peering through dusty pages until finding what she so desperately wanted.

Months before a mere glimpse of the recipe repulsed her. Now she was fascinated by it in a disturbingly entranced sort of way. The rest of the early morning darkness was spent bustling frantically around the tent attempting magic more difficult than she had ever thought herself capable. Most spells consisted of simple incantations meant to produce instantaneous results. This required dancing, singing chants, and breaths at precise intervals, but by the time it was over she had her desired result. Clutching the ball of rune inscribed fabric Lilith undulated her way through Lannisport. She sneered disgustedly at the throngs of dirty people wasting their lives away on a sunny lie.

Perhaps when Lilith first arrived she was blinded by the excessive opulence that flooded every inch of the dazzling city. Now all the girl wanted for was a simple cottage in the fertile lands of Sarsfield, but there was no going back. She ambled her way to a merchant's stall purchasing a balloon stitched together from pig intestines without a single word of negotiation. The young peddler rattled the abundance of coins in his fist with a greedy laugh. Lilith's chapped, pink lips curved up into a smile at that, for he would not be laughing much longer. In fact, no smiles would be seen in Lannisport for quite a while. The whores would close their legs, the ships would stay far from the docks, and the Lannisters would know what it felt like to lose a home.

After purchasing a single arrow from a somewhat bewildered trader Lilith found a nice, shady place to hide. Her eyes roved over Casterly's Courtyard with a slight sneer. Here was the home of the Houses Lannister of Lannisport, Lannys, Lannett, and Lantell. The compound of splendor that the lions not worthy of living in Casterly Rock called home. A Lord was nothing without his branches, and she intended to set aflame to every last one of Tywin Lannister's cousins no matter how distant. Much of the day was spent thinking of her father's handsome, heartwarming smile, and Ulric's knifelike intelligence. She waited there, stewing in memories, until well into the evening when the moon was just about to grace the sky with its beauty. Her plan started off at a very smooth pace. The balloon proved quite capable of supporting the weight of her package, floating gently up into the sky above the courtyard.

Holding a deep breath Lilith drew her single arrow back thinking only of her father's brilliant smile. Then she released, breaking into a mad dash in the opposite direction. Though it proved impossible not to look back over her shoulder as the arrow ripped through the simple balloon. That delightful, rune inscribed package plummeted to the ground where it, presumably, smacked against the cobblestones. A devastating explosion of blinding blue light rushed outwards, and arced high up into the sky. Casterly's Courtyard gave a very loud groan as it was blown to billions of fragmented, bloody pieces. Dust billowed high into the sky, mixing with a toxic, blue gas. Surrounding buildings shook, clattered, and collapsed. Lilith was picked up off of her feet by the explosion though the smile never left her pretty face. Everything buzzed for a very long while. Dust blasted outwards in a vengeful smog choking every being with lungs in a mile radius. Then, when the air began to clear, and devastated screams broke the air, Lilith started to limp back to Maggy's tent. In a moment of pure insanity she began to sing a song." _And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know. In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours..."_

OOOO

Thank you for reading! Just to clarify, if you are confused by my explanation of the magic in this fic please don't worry. I am going to be building on it as I go.

Next Chapter: Treating with Kings.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Treating with Kings.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

Lilith clung desperately to the slimy walls of the more impoverished sections of Lannisport. Her fingers found purchase in the cracked surfaces, but the blood gushing from her scratched fingers prevented too much support from being found. The sense of victory that left her feeling high only a few moments before was now replaced with coughing sobs. Most of the tears could be blamed on the cloud of dirt which was now covering Lannisport like a skin, but the rest were undeniably born of guilt. There was so much blood on her hands now, a body of it that could have rivalled the Narrow Sea. She could just imagine her father's spirit glaring disapprovingly down on her in that moment, whispering something along the lines of, 'Those who act out of rage most regret their actions."

By the Seven did Lilith regret what she had done. She was no better than Tywin Lannister, murdering children in an attempt to repay petty debts. Vomit poured from her heaving stomach as she continued to crawl along at a snail's pace. Her right ankle was almost definitely sprained, and every ache from having been dead for a month was now returning with an unforgivable vengeance. Out across the bay of Lannisport hundreds of pinpricks of light could be seen as the sailors tried to make sense of what had occurred. Every so often the calls of City Guardsmen could be heard piercing through the wails of distressed citizens. Still she persevered onwards trying her best to ignore the devastating aftermath wrought by her cataclysmic attack.

At least three hours passed her by in this same manner. Fighting through her mental and physical torments while struggling onwards to Maggy's tent. She already knew what the next course of action would be. Her destrier would need to be collected from the Spicer stables Maggy had allowed her to use. With her last remaining belongings in hand Lilith would ride north to intercept Robb Stark before he arrived at the Crag. Hopefully a Valyrian blade would be enough to convince the young King of her status as the last of the Tarbeck-Reyne bloodline. Lilith was so sure of her plan that what she soon found caused more bile to explode from her mouth.

Maggy the Frog's tent had been burnt to cinders.

She collapsed to the hard ground wondering if there was enough energy in her body to search the collapsed structure for any remaining possessions. Blearily Lilith fell into a very deep sleep. The crack of a snapping twig several hours later prompted her to awaken once more. Lilith knew that if someone was there to kill her they would succeed. Her sword was presumably buried beneath the mounds of ash, and no magic would come to her aid as she had spent too much of it on the ritual. Sighing at the realization that there was no stopping the stranger Lilith twisted her face towards the moon. They could kill her, the girl decided, she longed for a break from the agonizing pain coursing through every inch of her body.

The flash of steel never came, however. Standing above her when she peeled both, green eyes open was a child. He was clearly of Essos descent, and seemed no older than ten. "Are y-you th-e witch of H-H-House Reyne," The boy asked nervously. Lilith wondered if that was what her name was now, the witch of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne. Unable to coerce a single noise from her hoarse throat Lilith simply nodded up at him. "M-my gr-grandfather, Rolph Sp-Spicer sent me," He professed earnestly, "He wanted me to guide you from Lannisport t-to where our fa-family is w-wa-waiting." Lilith held her hand out to him, silently requesting assistance, initiating yet another long journey spent walking on her damaged ankle.

At least the first time around Lilith was allowed to struggle along by herself. This time she was forced to endure the company of a shivering Spicer boy who seemed quite ready to cry at her mere touch. Then when the sky was beginning to turn purple with _very_ early dusk they stumbled upon a stretch of the Goldenroad located a safe distance from Lannisport. Finally, it seemed that the pair had arrived to their destination. The Spicer boy was gasping violently for breath, and Lilith tried desperately to hide her similar, if not worse, state of shape. A small sort of camp was nestled within the crest of several tall hills. She noted that most of the tents were emblazoned with the shells of Houses Westerling, and the pepperpots of House Spicer.

Upon approaching the small settlement she was taken from her escort's arms, and into the custody of five heavily armed guards. She was then forced to the middle of the camp where a very large tent towered above her head. The soldiers surrounding her came to a stop before the entrance, all of them watched stoically as she limped through the flaps. Her eyes took a slight moment to adjust underneath the sparse firelight which was hardly doing its job. Lilith soon noticed a man staring at her from his spot behind a desk in the middle of the luxuriously decorated tent. He was very square in every regard, with a grey beard, and a nose which seemed to have been broken many times. His shrewd eyes drooped beneath the weight of his sagging eyelids.

Then she noticed several familiar faces. Maggy sat in the warmer corner of the tent next to Anise, who seemed to have grown even more heavy with pregnancy during the two months Lilith was dead. Situated relatively closer to the man was a slender, raven-haired woman whose glassy eyes were visibly picking Lilith apart from head-to-toe. "Lilith Tarbeck," The man smiled cunningly, "My name is Rolph Spicer. Head of House Spicer, and Maggy's firstborn son." He leaned forwards so his elbows were now resting firmly upon the tabletop. "My mother has told us _much_ about you, the fledgling witch who uprooted the entire political foundation of Lannisport in a single evening."

Lilith was about to respond, but swiftly recalled how parched her throat was. Without warning she limped forwards to his desk, snatching the bottle of Dornish wine into the air, before proceeding to swallow half of its contents in an entirely barbaric sort of way. Slamming the thick bottle back onto the table she settled her hands on either side of it so that she could make better eye contact with the Spicer patriarch. "What do you want, Ser Spicer? I am unable to comprehend why I find myself standing here before you, free of chains, when I have launched a direct assault upon your beloved overlord's capital," Her alcohol coated breath must have stung, but he did not blink.

"Because I did not raise a fool," Maggy spoke up from her side of the tent, "Rolph has enough sense to listen to his mother." Maggy stood slowly, reminding Lilith of just how old the witch was, "And his mother recognizes your talents." The witch stepped even closer, "You will be the greatest Maegi this world has ever seen. House Spicer has every intention of climbing to the top right at your side, not cowering beneath Tywin Lannister's paws!" Lilith had heard several variations of this speech before, but now it felt very different. She supposed that having openly launched an attack upon the Lannisters had colored the entire situation.

"What of the Westerling soldiers?" Lilith turned to glance at Rolph once more. "Why would they agree to help you turn against the Lannisters?"

He smiled mirthfully. "House Westerling relies heavily upon our financial support," The man chuckled, "Also, my sister is Lord Gawen's wife. They gave four-hundred men to Tywin Lannister at the start of this war, but she provided us with around sixty Westerling men several years ago."

"She gave you those men to secure our Westerland trading routes, father," The very pregnant Anise interrupted easily. Lilith was starting to suffer a severe case of whiplash from turning her head so often to listen to all of the Spicers. "I doubt aunt Sybelle will be too pleased to help you support this murderess," Her voice rose sharply, defiantly, "The woman who murdered the father of my child. Along with his entire family!" Rolph Spicer stood to both feet furiously, opening his mouth to release an undoubtedly vicious retort. Anise spoke once more, however, "I am ashamed that my own blood would contemplate siding with this deranged, Tarbeck whore. Hopefully our House is not damaged too far beyond repair after Tywin Lannister does to us what he did to the Reynes!"

Then the woman struggled to a standing position, and waddled from the tent without another word. "My daughter can be difficult," Rolph tried to move on from the passionate outburst, "Hopefully the child she carries will prove less hotblooded. If all the Lannisters of Lannisport did indeed perish, as my sources inside the city have assured me, it shall grow to become the next Lord or Lady of Lannisport."

"So long as Tywin Lannister loses the war," Lilith remarked with her cracked voice, "As we all know he would never allow the Spicer's to take control of Westeros's wealthiest port. Especially not when Maggy has become so widely associated with the witch of House Reyne."

The woman sitting on Rolph's left spoke up next. "Now we come to the crux of the issue, the grand reason why my husband summoned you here," The conspiratorial light in her glassy eyes left Lilith shivering, "You and my good mother have destroyed the reputation of House Spicer. No matter how loyally we support him, Tywin Lannister shall punish us nonetheless." Her stoic expression did not relent, "His sister was murdered within our home, my good mother trained you in sorcery, and you went on to slaughter almost nearly every cadet branch of House Lannister. Now our only chance at salvation lies with you, a girl with nothing more than a few spells and nearly defunct titles."

Rolph pounced on the silence which his wife had so masterfully created. "We have prepared a contract," The merchant pushed a paper across the desk towards Lilith, "You must agree to the following stipulations in exchange for my support." Warily the green-eyed girl began to scan the document.

"I must claim the Westerlands under the title of Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne," She read aloud, "Agree to grant Rolph Spicer of House Spicer a lordship, castle, and lands suitable for the development of a port. Recognize Anise Spicer's unborn child as the sole heir to the entirety of Lannisport. Help to arrange and secure favorable marriages for House Spicer. Upon becoming Lady Paramount of the Westerlands I am also expected to provide the necessary funds to aide the Westerlings in repairing their ancestral seat, the Crag. Aide in securing the release of Lord Gawen Westerling from his imprisonment at Seagard. House Westerling must additionally be provided assistance in securing politically advantageous marriages." Finally the injured girl took a moment for a well-deserved break. "If all of these terms are agreed to then the Houses of Westerling and Spicer shall bend the knee to Lilith of Tarbeck-Reyne."

She stood there for a very long moment staring over the contract. Lilith knew that all of the demands were perfectly reasonable, and perfectly agreeable. The Spicers were in a prime position to demand more from her, yet they did not. That fact alone drove the girl to sign the document when Rolph held out a writing utensil. "That concludes our business for now," He said firmly, "My mother shall escort you to your tent where a healer will see to your injuries." His dismissal was only too welcome to Lilith who almost collapsed into Maggy's arms when the witch stepped forwards. Then the old woman practically carried her apprentice out of the tent with a surprising burst of strength.

Many of the Spicers and soldiers roaming about the camp stared at the pair all the way to Lilith's tent. Soon enough the exhausted girl was spread across her bed, unconscious the moment her weight was resting against the sheets.

OOOO

She awoke on the same mattress as before. This time, however, her injured ankle was bound tightly enough to make any movement of the limb impossible. Sitting up slightly Lilith examined her tent momentarily, swiftly realizing that it was not just her own. Spread out across the other half of the structure were most of Maggy's possessions, no doubt collected prior to the burning of her tent. Grimoires sat in towering piles that seemed to shake with every disturbance of air outside, pots filled with herbs rusted away by the foot of Maggy's bed, and a number of moldy sacks lay unopened on the floor. Pulling herself upwards onto her good foot, wincing at the dizziness, Lilith was only too happy to peer into the trunk situated neatly at the end of her bed.

Sitting on the floor she smiled happily at the contents. Everything was still there. The Father's Gift, her weirwood bow, as well as those few remaining dresses that were not in ragged tatters. Lilith frowned when something distinctly metal pressed against her roaming hand. Ulric's Maester's links glinted up at her. The breaths quickened in her sore chest while she tried to hold back the tears. Her sweet, intelligent grandfather who had been as much a part of her family as her equally dead father. Absentmindedly Lilith traced each link, realizing all the while that each one symbolized a skill Ulric passed along to her. Pewter for husbandry, red gold for architecture, and even brass which represented the art of ravenry. With every link that her soft fingers came across there was a bittersweet memory which followed closely behind. Wrenching the Father's Gift out of the trunk she quickly closed the lid, shutting all her pain away once more.

Almost the second after her ancestral blade was strapped around her waist someone strode into the tent. Maggy did not seemed overtly surprised to discover Lilith awake once more. Instead the witch focused on her mountain of belongings which she was clearly trying to pack away. "You were asleep for two days," The Maegi croaked, "We are preparing to march north to intercept Robb Stark at his camp near Ashemark." She started to begin transferring her precious books into a massive trunk. "Rolph sent riders as far as the Riverlands to the Lannister army. He ordered the remaining Westerling forces, around two-hundred-twenty men to return. Including our own forces, around fifty Spicer sellswords and forty Westerling men, there will be more than three-hundred swords that can be offered to Robb Stark."

"So long as they actually defect," Lilith spoke her first, very skeptical, words, "Then there is no guarantee that any of them will actually desert from Tywin's army unscathed." Maggy slammed the trunk shut suddenly, in the blink of an eye she had hobbled only an arm's length away from her apprentice.

"I expect _nothing_ but hopeful, inspiring leadership to come from your mouth, girl," The witch snapped evenly. "Perhaps those two-hundred-thirty soldiers will not pledge you their loyalty, oh well," Those brown eyes could have murdered, "You still have ninety men under your command. My son's and daughter's Houses have knelt beneath you. No longer can you act like a moronic, simple-minded child." Both of the witch's hands grasped Lilith's face tightly, "It is time to be the Lady Paramount of the Westerlands! Now hop out there with your one foot, and show all these men that they can indeed take orders from a woman." With that Maggy spun back to her belongings as though the speech never even occurred.

At first Lilith wanted to lash out at the ugly witch, but she stopped herself. Her father once told her that criticism was often the greatest weapon at a man's disposal. While almost always unpleasant to take in it could invariably be used to grow. Nodding to herself the girl opened her trunk once more to find a fresh change of clothes that were more suitable for travel by horse. Soon enough she was marching out of the tent, hiding the pain of her limp, in an old pair trousers. Everywhere she looked soldiers were disassembling the tents and moving all of the belongings of House Spicer into large carts harnessed to heavy draft horses. Lilith was only too happy to assist.

By the time all of the work was finished two hours later she was laughing uproariously with at least half of the soldiers. Any remaining, lewd jokes or temporary bonds did not last long when Ser Rolph sent another of his grandsons to collect her. Lilith found herself pulled along to the head of what would be their marching campaign where the Spicer patriarch waited with a very familiar Destrier. Smiling at the sight of the horse which she had brought to Lannisport, Lilith stared at him expectantly. "You did a fine job connecting with the men today," He acknowledged, "Continue until they would all proudly die for your mere name. Even the sellswords can be won over." The spice trader paused hesitantly, "I received a raven from my sister. She says that her House has been convinced to bend the knee to your cause in accordance with the contract. My sister also admitted to something that must never reach the ears of the Young Wolf." Rolph stared rigidly at Lilith until her head bobbed in agreement. "Recently she has been negotiating with Tywin Lannister," His voice lowered further, "Who wished for my niece, Jeyne Westerling, to seduce Robb Stark. This would have potentially broken his betrothal to the Freys, and left his army greatly weakened."

"How could someone formulate such a convoluted plan?" Lilith asked, a cold feeling settling in her stomach, "What would have guaranteed that Robb Stark would even wed this Westerling girl?"

"The famous, Stark honor," Ser Rolph replied with a dark smile, "Coupled with one of the love potions my mother presumably taught Sybelle to craft." The man began to hoist himself up onto his horse. "Remember that Tywin Lannister is not dangerous because he shits gold, but because he thinks seven steps ahead of everyone else. He does not know of your resurrection yet, so that means for now we are outplaying him at his own game, Lady Lilith." She frowned momentarily at his words, yet pulled herself up onto her own saddle. Her head whirled not only with concern for the looming threat posed by the Lannisters, but at having been called a 'Lady' for the first time in her life.

OOOO

They rode north for two days with very little pause, only stopping once for a brief rest. As the party of one-hundred moved steadily towards their destination, Lilith found herself spending more time with the soldiers than anyone else. Rolph's task was something that she could pour herself into entirely, effectively banishing any thoughts of her dead father and all of the haunting memories from Lannisport. During the last night of their journey the company made a very small camp. Only a single, small tent was erected so that Anise could rest after her jarring journey at the back of the procession in a small cart. All of the other women chose to sleep in the little structure beside the pregnant Spicer, but Lilith preferred to lie underneath the stars. She remained awake long after the men around her descended into a cacophony of whistling snores.

The girl wondered whether she had the gall to do what would be required of her the next morning. To ride into a camp of six-thousand men, so that she could meet with a Northern King. Right when the anxieties were close to consuming her entire body whole a hand slipped across her pink lips. Fighting upwards Lilith found herself glowering at Maggy the Frog. "Come along now, girl," She croaked, ugly face twisting, "There are several matters that we must discuss." Allowing herself to be tugged into a sitting position, Lilith followed after Maggy while carefully avoiding the muddier patches of earth. They slipped quietly by the cart, and the patrolling soldiers let them pass without a single word. It felt as if they walked for ages over the sopping wet ground.

Lilith momentarily felt herself trapped in the memories of that first night so many months before. Lying before the ruins of Castamere, Maggy chanting, and the mud swallowing her body whole. "Do you feel it, my child?" The witch asked, "A tingle down your spine? The shivering rush of something that cannot be quite put into words? Is the earth calling to your very soul?" An ugly, gnarled finger stretched out to roam the length of Lilith's jawline. "Tell me, how is all of that power making you feel?" Maggy begged in a desperate, somewhat jealous, tone.

"L-l-like a wave," Lilith answered, swallowing thickly, describing the feeling which had been perpetually present since her resurrection. "My father and I once travelled to the beach," Her voice grew stronger, "The waves were massive, and almost nothing else has knocked me over so easily in my life. That is how I feel every step I take."

"Try to create a flame, little lion," The old woman ordered, "Then tell me how it felt."

Wondering what point her instructor was trying to make, the girl did as was asked of her. "Dracarys," She whispered the word almost reverently, causing an orange flame to flash briefly into existence. As soon as the last flickers of light were snuffed out against the muddy ground Lilith spoke. "It takes too much energy to create flames," The blonde sighed out tiredly, still physically exhausted from Lannisport, "And I have to concentrate so hard before anything happens…" She felt those repulsive fingers grab her own, but did not bother to look up from the spot her magic had dissipated to.

"Now move the earth," Maggy smiled faintly, "Allow it to flow outwards in those waves you mentioned."

Closing both eyes in concentration Lilith focused on the swell of land beneath her feet. The only other time she had tried to manipulate the earth before was immediately after having awoken from death. Now, without the desperation to be free from a prison of sand present she found herself struggling to gain a grasp on the pleasant buzz emanating from the ground. "Guese hakogan," She chanted in High Valyrian, "Guese. Hakogan." Over and over again those two words whispered off of her pink, chapped lips. Then finally Lilith felt that energy contained within her torso rip outwards. The sloshing soil rose around her, coiled as tightly as a snake, and waiting for her command. "Geron!" The blonde cried suddenly prompting the roiling, black mass to swirl violently about in a frenetic sort of dance. With a victorious smile Lilith allowed the mud to whip back to the ground in an uncontrolled wave.

For a very long while she was lost in the crashing undulations her use of magic left behind. "That was nothing like I have ever experienced," Lilith hissed, head tipped back in the wake of such pure ecstasy. "The power, the magic," She finally peeled her eyes open to stare imploringly at Maggy, "What just happened?"

A fond expression spread across Maggy's face. "The time you spent in the afterlife, girl," Her repulsive jowls were revealed momentarily, "It broke down the barriers which blocked your connection to the earth. Now you can bend it to your will as easily as taking a shit."

Lilith smiled down at the sloppy, uneven ground which she had only several minutes prior been so easily manipulating. A thought struck her in that moment. For much of the journey she had been worrying greatly over her inevitable meeting with the Wolf King. What would prevent him from simply murdering her on the spot, what could _Lilith Miller_ provide _Robb Stark_. Now she knew, and it was something the North could use very badly.

OOOO

Lilith felt cold even though the Westerland sun burned bright, and dangled high in the sky. Perhaps, she decided, it had something to do with the throngs of Northern soldiers glaring at her. Or, more to do with the fact that only six Westerling men escorted she and Rolph Spicer on their trip to the largest tent in the camp. The girl wondered why the Wolf King even allowed them to bring such a small guard passed the sentries when the six men were not even truly meant to protect anything much. Lilith suspected that she would be better off defending herself alone with nothing more than the Father's Gift and magic. Hopefully, however, blows would not come to pass as it would result in not only her own death, but those of her allies as well.

She noted how Rolph Spicer, who walked alongside her, moved as though he had no care in the world. This prompted Lilith to steel herself as she once again dedicated her remaining, mental capacities to remaining tall. The sun shone down right when the six soldiers circling them came to a clanking halt. In the hot, rippling winds Lilith observed how the snarling Direwolf of House Stark billowed defiantly in her direction. 'Winter is coming,' Those grim, famous House words reminded the girl that she would soon meet a King of Winter. Fortunately the long-forgotten words of House Tarbeck washed over her in that moment. "Faith is fortune," She said aloud, before marching ahead of Ser Rolph into the tent.

Many faces glared at her, venomous gazes drowning with hate. None of them yet knew who she was aside from being a 'special ward' of Rolph Spicer. To these Northern Lords Lilith was simply a no name Westerlander, and she suspected most of them would still hate her even after she revealed her identity. Crossing both arms, tipping her head back to size up her many opponents, Lilith felt a sort of faith rise in her belly. Not from the Seven, Old Gods, or even R'Hllor, but a belief in herself. With that sensation empowering her along she levelled her emerald gaze upon Robb Stark.

The handsome King was even more attractive in person, Lilith swiftly realized. His Tully-blue eyes peering interestedly at his guests. Honestly she could not blame him, for it was not everyday that a girl in trousers, and the Head of House Spicer arrived for visits. "Ser Spicer," The Stark acknowledged from his spot between a fearsome, rabid-looking woman, and one of the tallest men Lilith had ever seen. "I found myself quite taken aback when the brother of Sybelle Westerling demanded my audience," His voice was understandably skeptical. "Why would you not use the one-hundred men at your disposal to protect the Crag from my approaching army?"

"Because I am no fool, my King," Ser Rolph showed no reluctance at the act of submission. Lilith nearly smiled at her companion's splendid political abilities, for they were the perfect balance between ingratiation and lordly composure. "You have the numbers, and your many victories do not lie," He glanced at Lilith briefly, though most in the tent seemed to notice, "Besides. My sister and I have come to align ourselves with someone other than the Lannisters," Rolph fell silent prompting Lilith to sweep forwards so that she stood facing the Northern King directly. She did not fail to notice how nearly three-quarters of his present bannermen instantly grasped at the hilts of their weapons.

"You lost a father to the Lannisters, Robb Stark," She spoke softly even as his Lords glowered at her for mentioning the late, Eddard Stark. "I lost my great-grandparents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and father to Tywin Lannister's ambitions," Her voice was sharp now, propelled powerfully by the spirits of her slaughtered relatives, "The old Lion crushed our keeps and castles. Drowned us like rats and pulverized us to dust. Yet here I stand before you, my mere existence an insult to our common enemy." His crown of bronze swords pointed imperiously towards the tent's ceiling. Those ravishing, blue eyes made Lilith quiver in a way she never had before.

"Plenty of people have been fucked backwards by the Lannisters, what makes you any different, girl!" The almost inhumanly tall man next to the Young Wolf barked mockingly at her. Most of the other men in the tent laughed alongside him. Grinding her teeth together harshly Lilith wrenched her sword free, pointing the blade at the infuriating man threateningly. All of the guards standing behind her could be heard withdrawing their own blades, but Lilith acted faster than they could skewer her alive.

"I am Lilith of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne," She called out proudly, "And if the terms are agreeable I shall pledge the Valyrian steel of my forefathers to the North!" The impact was instantaneous. Ser Rolph pulled her back by the tunic, forcing her arm down as the guards surrounded them with outstretched blades. Across the tent Robb Stark was visibly attempting to calm his assembly of Lords who were arguing fiercely after her revelation. Finally the tent's occupants stilled just enough for the Wolf King to take charge of the situation.

"Bring her sword," He motioned to one of the guards, then his eyes shifted to the squire standing nearby. "Fetch the best blacksmith you can find Olyvar," Robb Stark commanded before staring down at Lilith's sword which now rested on the table. Her eyes noted how a moment later the ferocious-looking woman at the Stark's side whispered up into one of his ears. Lilith watched as his jaw tightened, and listened to what he said next, "Tell us your story. Then we shall see if the evidence holds up." Hiding a nervous gulp Lilith shifted slightly underneath the force of the young man's gaze. He was only a few years older than she, but something about his presence caused her to hesitate.

"I was raised by my father and grandfather in the Sarsfield lands," She started slowly, regaling them with the tale of her life. By the time her story ended every, single face was plastered with disbelief. Some even glowered in her direction with untempered hatred. Feeling more uncomfortable by the moment she found some slight comfort in the fact that Ser Rolph still stood by her side. Shoulder-to-shoulder the pair observed as Olyvar returned, red in the face, with an incredibly filthy blacksmith. Lilith's heart thumped frantically as the farrier held the Father's Gift aloft in the air, twisting it in the torchlight.

"Aye, my King, this is Valyrian steel," His voice was decidedly certain, "Though I cannot be certain of it actually having belonged to House Tarbeck. I do not have enough knowledge of the southron Valyrian blades." That last admission set Lilith's teeth into a storm of furious gnashing, and one of the men standing on the other side of the tent into a tirade. He bellowed the nastiest things at her, demanding that his King send the pretender to whore alongside the camp followers. He was escorted out at the King of the North's behest alongside the other, more uncontrollable Lords. Silence fell across the space for the first time since Lilith had made her first steps inside.

In that moment she recognized something in the remaining pairs of eyes. None of them believed her, or seemed convinced in the least by the Valyrian blade resting on the desk. Lilith felt her rage rising for the first time since Maggy told her that Tywin Lannister had slaughtered her father and grandfather back in Lannisport. Even though she knew this burning hatred growing in her belly was dangerous, Lilith felt herself lose control of it once more. "Guese hakogan," She called loudly, prompting the floor of the tent to rip into silky shreds as the earth oozed towards her. Everyone seemed too surprised by her magic to do anything other than stare. The ground hissed angrily beneath her verbal commands, solidifying along the ankles of the soldiers around her.

"Magic is real, Robb Stark," Lilith swept towards him with outstretched arms, "No doubt those many, strange rumors are beginning to seem a bit more believable." The remaining lords standing behind him were hacking desperately at the stone which trapped them in place. "A girl did indeed send an enchanted dagger into Genna Lannister's repugnant face. Then she was buried alive like her ancestors at Tarbeck Hall." Now she found herself standing directly in front of the desk. The blacksmith tried to shift away as though her presence were more threatening than his earthen bonds. "That girl is me, and those Lannister soldiers had no way of knowing that I would return from death and slaughter nearly all of Tywin Lannister's cousins."

Her green eyes locked tightly with the King's blue ones. Lilith realized in this moment that she was no longer unnerved by the young man. "I have the power to order the earth to rip you to bits," Her voice did not quaver the slightest bit, "But I have no intention of harming you or your men, my King." With that she slid her sword back into its pommel prior to releasing the Northerners from their bonds. For a split-second Lilith worried that she would be skewered until Robb Stark's commanding voice echoed around the tent once more.

"Leave," He ordered to his bewildered soldiers. No matter how reluctantly they still followed his orders leaving Ser Rolph standing by himself in front of the still-fluttering tent flaps. Lilith observed how the now free, wild woman standing next to the King said nothing, but watched with tightly pursed lips. "I do not fully trust your intentions," The King said sharply, "Yet you have proven to a certain extent that you are no friend to the Lannisters which is good enough for me. Shall we discuss terms?"

OOOO

The next four hours were spent with Lilith locked in deep negotiations with the Lords of the North. Robb Stark certainly had some noteworthy ideas, but Maege Mormont, the wild-looking woman, proved a more skillful negotiator than any of the men in the tent. Except for Rolph Spicer. "Lady Lilith will pledge her services against all the enemies of House Stark, so long as my good brother, Gawen Westerling is released from Seagard," The spice trader haggled firmly. "Additionally," He snapped loudly, "His grace will grant the Stony Shore to House Spicer along with a lordship."

Lady Maege cackled mockingly, "You expect the King to confiscate the Stony Shore from House Ryswell, so that it can be given to your family?"

"I intend to establish a port on the western coast of the North which could rival all the others in Westeros," Rolph admitted, "Once Lord Ryswell learns of my plans for the area he will be quite interested. Besides, this is hardly a foreign idea. The Manderly's were given refuge in the North, and have proven a highly profitable investment."

"I think that is an agreeable request," The King prevented another of his Lords from challenging the merchant. "So long as you promise to wed your grandchild, the one that will inherit Lannisport, to a Manderly. It would not do to have a port rivalry splitting the North down the middle." He held his finger up signalling for the man named Robin Flint, who was drafting the contract, to pause momentarily. "I would also like for you to at least arrange betrothals with the Mormonts and the Glovers. My father always said that they have quite a bit to trade, but are too far from White Harbor to make the most of it." A flash of pain flitted across the young man's face, yet it was gone before Lilith could confirm having seen anything at all.

Her eyes fell to where the contract lay unfinished before Robin Flint's seat at the desk. Hours of tense negotiations had yielded very little for either side, and there was something that Lilith wanted very badly. She cared little for the Northern forces that would be loaned to her, so long as she could sway some of the Westerland Lords from the Lannisters, in exchange for an oath of fealty. "I want Tywin Lannister," Lilith interrupted Maege Mormont's latest barrage of verbal knives, "You can have his lion spawn, but I want him."

"That will not be negotiated," Robb Stark snapped at her, lips curling into an affronted snarl. "The Lannisters murdered my father-."

" _Joffrey Baratheon_ murdered Eddard Stark, your grace," She corrected, "Tywin Lannister annihilated my entire bloodline. Root and stem." They stared at one another with calculating gazes. The newly legitimized Lady of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne facing against a King of Winter.

"What are you willing to offer?" Maege Mormont spoke up again, "If we were to mark Tywin Lannister as yours, what would the North get out of it?" Everyone now stared in her direction with expectant looks. The blonde's fingers trembled slightly at what she was about to propose. Horse selling had never been quite so high stakes, and Lilith hoped for a short moment that she was a talented enough merchant to sell her offer.

"Nearly half of the North cannot be farmed, and as a result nearly half of it is left useless," Lilith began slowly, looking to Lady Mormont rather than the King. He was proving a stubborn, young fool every time she tried to enter into the talks of negotiation. Besides, she was already beginning to note that he depended heavily on the guidance of his advisors. "All of you have seen my power. I can break the earth loose when it breaks in winter, and perhaps even irrigate crops with a single word. Imagine how the North could grow if such limitations were shattered." A taunting smile spread across her lips as she regarded the King once more, "What would your people have to say, my grace, if you chose Tywin Lannister's head and Harrenhal, over such an opportunity to improve their living conditions."

"What does Harrenhal have to do with anything?" Robb Stark snapped ferociously, as he fell victim to her game.

"My offer five minutes ago was to improve the North's farming conditions in exchange for Tywin Lannister's head, your grace," Lilith explained mockingly. Her cool, green eyes clashed dangerously with his fiery blue ones. "Unfortunately that deal has expired. Now I want Tywin Lannister's head _as well as_ Harrenhal once the war has been won." She leaned back into her chair so that it would be easier to stare at the slightly taller King. "Must I ask for more, or will you agree to my current terms, your grace?" Behind him some of the Lords moved with slight unease.

The King of the North and Trident seemed to realize that he had lost. "No price is too great if it means my people shall have a better chance of survival through winter," The man conceded humbly, "Add these terms to the contract Lord Robin." All of the occupants of the tent waited patiently for the scribe to finish his last addition to the paper. Seconds after he finished scribbling Lilith observed as the King signed his signature. Then the curling parchment was pushed across the desk to her. Lilith hesitated momentarily. With a single flick of the wrist she would be legitimized by the North. No longer would she be a Miller, but the recognized heir of Castamere, Tarbeck Hall, and soon enough Harrenhal.

She left the tent with a solid bow to her new King, and the title of Lady Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne hanging over her golden head.

OOOO

This chapter was mostly about setting up the foundation of the plot. Hopefully I didn't lose anyone halfway through!

Next Chapter: Breaking Teeth


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Smashing Teeth.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

Everything in the Crag seemed close to dilapidation. Threadbare banners barely clung to the walls, threatening to smack against the dirty floors at any moment. A handful of servants rushed about with arms full of scratched dining utensils unfit for use by a minor noble no less the King of the North. Lilith observed the castle which appeared as though it were more of a ruin than the ancestral seat of House Westerling. That very same House which had helped the Lannisters to crush her father's family beneath tons of rubble. Now they served the newly legitimized Lady of House Tarbeck-Reyne. She almost laughed aloud at the present situation, yet refrained as such an involuntary action would leave a bad impression on her hosts.

Sitting to Lilith's immediate right was Lord Rolph, who in turn sat next to Maege Mormont. The she-bear alternated between barely polite conversations with the newly named Lord on her left and whispering into King Robb's ear on the right. Her own position at the table proved much less politically stimulating. Raynald Westerling proved an ardent admirer, focusing his every breath into meaningless flirtations. With each chivalrous twitch of his moustache Lilith found herself battling the urge to tug the Father's Gift free. She was, so long as Robb Stark won the war, the most likely candidate to replace the Lannisters as Lady Paramount of the Westerlands. Many men would soon begin to curry for her favor.

Besides, the blonde was hardly unused to such reactions. Men back in Sarsfield of all ages had tried to persuade her into their beds. Now, however, the stakes were much higher than a simple toss in the hay with a burly farmer's boy. Lilith was only valuable so long as her virtue remained intact, and she remained capable of forming favorable alliances. Unfortunately for Raynald Westerling there was absolutely no chance that he would ever attract her interest. "I have been considering potential betrothals for you, Lord Raynald," She admitted suddenly, cutting off whatever compliment had been about to slip off his tongue. "Perhaps the eldest Marbrand girl? I hear they are quite comely, and King Robb has captured Ashemark."

While Lilith did not truly plan on having Raynald wed a hostage from Ashemark the threat proved quite effective. His jaw tightened shut while he turned those brown eyes to the plate before him respectfully. She was in charge now, and the eldest son of her first, Westerland vassal would not think otherwise. Free of Raynald's incessant chatter Lilith found herself able to gaze down upon the modestly sized feast hall. Only the highest ranking soldiers from Robb Stark's army were invited to fill the tables beneath the podium. Splintering, wooden mugs were flowing with ale while the few whores the Crag could offer milled about for prospective clients.

"We feast here tonight because of your arrival into the political landscape," Lord Rolph remarked from beside her, "And thanks to my mother's interference in the Tarbeck-Reyne Rebellion all those years ago." He was trying to affirm his hold over her, Lilith realized, instilling a sense of debt in the conversation. "No men had to die, the Crag still stands, I have been granted a lordship, and you will soon be ready to reclaim your birthright," He ticked each recent improvement off with a dangerous gleam in both eyes. "Yet we are in a more precarious position than ever before, Lady Lilith." She doubted anyone could hear his whispered words over the booming cacophony of one-hundred northmen feasting in one hall. "Robb Stark does not trust us, nor will he ever unless drastic measures are taken," His darker hand moved to cover her own pale one, though not in a untoward way. "He has made many foolish mistakes in this war, all for the sake of that Stark honor," A reassuring squeeze engulfed the back of Lilith's hand, "More mistakes will come to pass without a suitable advisor guiding the King. You must become close to him in a way that I never could."

Everything clicked into place. The nagging concern that she had tied herself to a severely mismanaged militarial campaign was clearly a shared fear with Lord Rolph. She wanted to burst into a rage, throw her plate of plain food at him for daring to suggest she should become a whore for the King of the North. Yet their survival depended on such an action, and Lilith knew she would ask the same thing in a reverse situation. The blonde's green eyes connected momentarily with his as her head bobbed in reluctant agreement. Long after he turned back to his plate she listened to Robb Stark's boisterous conversation with the Greatjon Umber, wondering if lions could seduce wolves.

OOOO

 _The sword swung through thin air, ruby pommel glittering beneath the vivid sunlight. A handsome man with a crown on his head drew the powerful steel through her midsection with one brutal flick of his wrist. Images of his silver hair and purple eyes flashed through Lilith's head as she was sent spinning into a burning village. Her heart pounded as she watched a man with the sigil of a bone hand plastered on his back fuck a wailing, young woman. His bald head glimmered with sweat while a crimson-red blade dangled from his hand. Dripping blood to the dirt floor beneath his feet. In the blink of an eye Lilith was once again transported, but this time to a misty land which practically oozed foreboding. Strewn across the marshy ground lay a long forgotten blade with a snarling hilt._

' _Three of my blades you shall grasp,' A genderless voice whispered to her from across the misty, lifeless land, 'Four of them you shall pass along.'_

 _She was sucked into the soft, muddy earth the moment that voice finished speaking. First Lilith could not breathe, chokes tore through her windpipe as she lost herself in memories of being buried alive. Hands ripped through the soil to grasp at her body in a warring dance. The pair draped in grey sunk violently into her head, a single hand covered in gold pawed hungrily at Lilith's heart, and the final set ravaged across her skin with a touch of silver fire. Screams tried to erupt from Lilith's throat, yet the fiery fingers wrapped around her neck. With a sickening crunch she was dropped in a courtyard on her legs. A crowd of people stood gathered together beneath the sight of two, charred bodies hanging from a stone wall._

' _I gift you with this knowledge,' The primal-sounding growl resounded in both of her ears, 'The princes of House Stark live. Fleeing the Kraken and the stealers of flesh.'_

Air racketed through Lilith's closed throat as she was released from the dizzying barrage of terrifying scenes. Panting violently she rolled out of her makeshift bed of dusty sheets onto the cold, tent floor. Maggy's jarring snores did nothing to calm the girl's half-crazed state of delusion. Noticing the purple light beginning to pour through the bottom of the flaps she stood to both feet shakily. Carefully Lilith went about her morning routine, brushing out the twisted locks cascading from her head as she rummaged about for a dress. None of them seemed fitting for what the blonde planned on accomplishing. "Look in that sack," Maggy slurred unexpectedly, causing her already unsettled apprentice to jump.

Nonetheless she stepped carefully between stacks of grimoires and the general debris left behind wherever Maggy walked. Soon enough the nearly disintegrating, moldy sack was pulled open to reveal something that was, admittedly, quite shocking. "I used to dress like a fancy, beautiful Lady as well, my little lion," The Maegi cackled, half-asleep, "Yet looks fade. Remember that." Her pale fingers pulled gently at the clothing hidden inside the bag. All sorts of cuts, styles, and colors were revealed in the sparse light. There were Essos cut gowns that left nothing to the imagination, as well as Reach styled dresses which were only slightly better.

Lilith fumbled around for a slight moment until she finally found it. The dress was just as fine as the others, yet a slight bit more modest. Though it was sewn of Myrish silk, the girl chose this particular gown because it was colored blue and white. Tarbeck colors. She slipped into the slinky, soft material with a small frown. Unsurprisingly, the bodice was tight around Lilith's chest, immodestly so, but her chin was firm with resolution. Robb Stark, honorable Ned's son, could hardly be seduced by a girl dressed like a septa. Maggy did not speak again, yet Lilith left the tent knowing the witch approved of her choice.

"Good morning my Lady," Both of the guards standing outside of her tent stood ramrod straight. She responded in kind, having memorized many of the names of the Westerling men and Spicer sellswords. As the blonde made her way to the Crag, where Robb Stark was being hosted with his advisors, the Northern soldiers whispered. Witch, whore, bastard, Westerland bitch, they called her. Lilith heard everything, yet focused only on the journey to the Westerling's ancestral seat. Half an hour passed until she found herself beneath the crumbling walls of the ruin. Maids bustled about busily much like they had the night before. The girl honestly found herself surprised that a House so poor as the Westerlings could afford to accommodate such a large fraction of the North's army.

Her green eyes followed every crack along every inch of the stone walls while she swept towards the King's quarters. An easily intimidated squire along the way provided directions. In a matter of minutes Lilith found herself standing outside of the second finest set of chambers. Unfortunately, the massive, wooden doors were under the watchful gaze of at least six guards. "I must speak with his grace," Lilith smiled winningly at Robin Flint who headed the others, "Information of an urgent nature has come into my possession." Without much ado the dangerous assortment of Northmen bunched together against her.

"You have chosen a very poor moment to visit his grace," Flint spoke sternly, "We must ask you to leave." After he finished speaking Lilith strained both ears to a noise that she had not heard before. Furious roars and the faint sound of crashing furniture could be heard coming from within Robb Stark's chambers. All too curious at what was going on behind those doors she stepped closer to the group of men. "I will warn you only one more time," Lord Robin's hand crept down to the scabbard at his hips, "Leave now. None of us wish for there to be any trouble." Feeling very aware of every ache on her body Lilith stepped on her still-sprained ankle towards them.

"Aesyir," Her voice cut sharp through their growing protestations. Energy flooded out of her in a wave as all of the men were blasted towards either side of the hall. Weapons, armor, and flesh smacked loudly against the stone floors. Lilith wasted no time marching through the doors into Robb Stark's chambers. Many windows revealed the beautiful, golden sight of the Sunset Sea. Her green eyes finally managed to pull away from that spectacular view towards one of the greatest messes she had ever seen. Almost every bit of furniture was broken into thousands of splintered fragments, upturned papers fluttered about in the air, and shattered ink bottles crunched underneath her shoes.

Amidst that tempestuous scenery stood the Wolf King, leaning against a massive, circular table with his head bowed. "What gives you the right to force entry into _my_ chambers," He bellowed when she failed to say anything, "To work your sorcery on my guards?" The man turned around so he could glare in her direction, those blue eyes harder than a ball of ice. Lilith wondered whether or not she had chosen the best moment to try beguiling her new sovereign. He was burning with untempered fury, for reasons entirely unknown to herself. When the dark-haired Stark opened his mouth to chastise her once again Lilith finally spoke.

"I dreamt of three swords early this morning," Her breathy voice confided abruptly, "As well as five hands. The earth suffocated me, and the flames consumed me with their kiss." At least two of the recently recovered guards burst into the chambers, yet Robb Stark held out his hand for them to stand at ease. "Then from out of the darkness I found myself lying in a courtyard blessed with sooty snow," She continued speaking when those blue eyes connected once more with her own, "Two boys hung from the wall, their bodies burnt to cinders." The King of the North stared at her with a disbelieving, almost infuriated expression, yet Lilith continued speaking. "A voice whispered to me above the peasant's outraged screams, and told me that the Stark princes still live," Her voice trailed momentarily, "Fleeing the Kraken and stealers of flesh."

Lilith stared at the floor after her unexpected outburst, realizing that her plans of seduction had gone terribly wrong. She waited for him to mock her, or to try throwing her from one of the many windows of the Crag. "Leave us," He ordered to the guards who stood behind her, "Close the door on your way out." The blonde listened to the barely recovered men limp out of the chambers until the door shut with a hollow bang. "I received a letter early this morning," The King motioned towards a crumpled scroll of parchment which rested on his table next to a carving of the Brax sigil. "Winterfell was captured by _Theon Greyjoy_ , and he had my brothers burned before hanging them on the walls of my home," Robb stepped closer to where she stood next to the table. "How would you know such information before even my own advisors?"

"Maggy Spicer told me that I have the Greensight," Lilith looked hesitantly into his eyes, "Which means-."

"That you can see the past, present, and future," Those blue eyes swirled with hope as he looked at her, "And that my brothers are still alive." She knew that a part of Robb Stark's mind was telling him to not believe such nonsense, but much like herself he had witnessed that magic was real. If the earth could be moved with a single word, and six guards tossed through the air like sacks of flour, then why should the witch of House Reyne not be able to see through time. Joy spread across his face in that moment, but was soon replaced by a grim realization. "My home has been stolen," He sighed defeatedly, "And my brothers are lost."

Lilith listened to him, yet her mind was moving faster than the wind. She had come to his chambers prepared to sell her body for greater influence. Instead an unknown entity sent her a dream which led to an entire reversal of what had once been the status quo. He was turning to clay in her hands, and the beautiful girl was determined to bend him as far as possible. "My grace," She suggested nervously until he looked back at her, "You are fighting a war in the South. Though there is great justification to worry over what has occurred in the North, it is a distraction from matters closer to our immediate cause."

The King observed her with a cautious interest, gazing directly into her emerald eyes. Other men spent most of their time ogling lewdly at Lilith's body, so it was always unsettling when the King of Winter did not. "What would you have me do then? Leave my brothers to hide like rats while the Greyjoys hunt them down?" She paused sharply to contemplate the wording of her next bit of advice. He was a Northerner with an entirely different view of the world, so Lilith would have to communicate her next thoughts clearly with him.

"No. You are needed below the Neck, my grace" The girl asserted evenly, "But an emissary will do just as well." Her hands grasped at the wooden figurines of Houses Umber and Mormont. "Select the most battle-hardened, loyal Lord in your army, and grant them temporary wardenship of the North." She smiled cunningly, "Send that Lord, whomever they may be, to White Harbor where the Manderlys can use this temporary authority to amass whatever forces still remain above the Neck." Stepping closer the blonde pressed the carvings into his coarse hands. His throat bobbed almost instantly after causing a smile to spread across Lilith's face. She might have been a virgin, but that did not mean she was incapable of flirting with men.

"In the meantime we shall focus our attention on ripping the Westerland coast to shreds." Here his eyebrows rose skeptically as Lilith entered into the most dangerous phase of their conversation. "Banefort, Feastfires, Kayce, and Faircastle shall be easy enough to topple with half their forces in the Riverlands with Tywin," Her voice grew more confident, "Though our intent will not be to take possession of those holdfasts. Instead we shall smash their walls, loot them extensively, then take all accompanying nobles hostage." Once more Lilith used the sigils scattered across the table to her advantage, grasping at the twin Krakens which spread from Pyke to Winterfell. "Soon enough your emissary will catch the Greyjoys residing North unawares," She continued, "Meanwhile Balon's foolish eyes will wander towards the undefended, Westerland coast which we shall leave just in his grasp."

"How could we accomplish such a thing with six-thousand men," Robb Stark countered, "My army barely made it passed Gold Tooth into the Westerlands in the first place. I hardly arrived here prepared to conquer half of Tywin Lannister's territory."

"These may be Tywin Lannister's lands, but they are mine as well," Lilith reminded him firmly. "My mere existence disrupts the absolute control he exerts over the Westerlands in a way that no one else has since he murdered my family. There are Houses that have been crushed beneath his brute force for years, and I plan to capture every bit of loyalty they can spare." She stepped closer to him, jabbing a finger pointedly into his tunic-clad chest, "I was raised alongside the common folk. They deserve more than a Lord who would sacrifice their lives just so his daughter can continue fucking her brother in King's Landing!"

Just when Lilith remembered that she was addressing a King he grabbed her wrist into his own hands. Dropping the two, wooden figurines to the floor he stared into her eyes fiercely. "I find myself tiring of pretty, southern words," He kept her wrist clamped in a surprisingly gentle grasp. Standing at such a short distance prompted the girl to realize how inappropriate the situation was. Robb Stark was garbed in nothing substantial and there were no chaperones to oversee their interaction. "We leave for the Riverlands in three days," He decided, "If you can manage to smash the Golden Tooth, and open a permanent door into the Westerlands, then I shall listen to your strategic advice."

OOOO

Chapter Eight: The Lady's Mettle.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: The Lady's Mettle.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne dodged the slender man's skillful sword swing with the sort of practiced grace which only came from years of training. Unfortunately he did not overextend in an attempt to reach at her armored body as she had hoped. Instead her adversary flew into what could only be called a deadly dance. Whirling delicately over the rocky ground as his very sharp blade slashed down towards her torso. In a moment of pure desperation the woman threw herself down violently to avoid the onslaught once again. With the precision of a master spearman he shifted his focus downwards, stabbing towards her midsection with all of his might. He never managed to strike the weapon home however. Releasing a ragged scream she swung her own Valyrian steel sword in a controlled arc.

As the unyielding weapon knocked its foe away her leg moved suddenly to hook around his unsuspecting knee. Lilith visibly used what remained of her strength to drag him down. Without any pause she moved her blade so that it was positioned above his face. Right between the eyes. The Northman sheathed his blade while stepping backwards away from the reach of the Father's Gift. Around her the Spicer sellswords and Westerling men cheered raucously at what must have been her third straight victory. The beautiful woman did not get much time to celebrate. "Any woman can beat a cunt from Widow's Watch," Bellowed a giant from within the crowd. Greatjon Umber strode forwards in his typical, confrontational manner, "I shall put this haggish whore in her place!"

Robb's eyes widened immensely as he anxiously recalled the one time Greatjon had tried to attack _him_. The young King shuffled somewhat nervously from his hiding place as he looked to Lady Lilith for her response. Even though she was a Westerlander Robb hoped, no, _needed_ for the woman not to take up such a suicidal challenge. His unexplainable emotions were not taken into consideration, for the witch turned back around to face her newest adversary with a wicked smile. "I could defeat you with nothing more than a dagger, Lord Umber!" She roared in response, prompting the Spicer and Westerling forces to clamor their approval.

He groaned when Umber rose to the challenge by pulling his massive sword into the air. The blonde stood there for a moment beneath the sun. Robb noticed for what seemed the thousandth time how her hair burned like golden fire, and how intriguingly tall she was. In that moment both of those characteristics blended together to produce an elegant warrioress. She unclasped the belt around her armored waist carefully before handing it to a man who stood inside her crowd of sworn soldiers. In exchange they procured a dagger which Lady Lilith then spun like a corkscrew with her talented fingers. This taunt did not sit well with the Greatjon who moved forwards with a mighty yell, swinging that monster of a blade as though to split her down the middle.

She danced speedily out of the way with both trouser-clad legs spreading into a split stance. Showing a surprising amount of speed Umber strode towards her with massive strides. Lilith attempted to duck once more though the Lord of Last Hearth struck outwards like a bear. Robb screamed in protest alongside most of the watching crowd at what happened next. Umber lashed downwards with his blade at the spot where the woman had fallen from the force of the first blow. Clearly attempting to launch a killing move the giant showed no hesitation at all until his intended victim leapt forwards with all the precision of a lioness. She was now so close in his defensive region that the sword became almost useless. Greatjon made an attempt to strike her back to the ground with his mighty fists, yet she acted faster than he could. Robb hardly realized what had happened until she swept backwards with a bloodied dagger in her hand.

Jon Umber let loose a river of incendiary slurs while a torrent of blood gushed out of his wounded forearm. The blade fell next to his feet. Suddenly every head was turned away from the pitiful scene towards Lady Lilith when she spoke. "I am a decent swordswoman," Her ringing voice acknowledged remorselessly, "I am an excellent knife thrower, however." The King of the North felt something burn fiercely in his throat as he watched her smile so predatorily. That confidence, beauty, wit, intelligence, slinky strut, and ladylike composure was all so lethally enthralling. Never could he recall the whores of Winterfell engaging his interest in such a profound way. Nor could Robb imagine any of those airheaded bints threatening one of his most powerful Lords with a dagger.

She circled stealthily around her back-bent adversary. "You have shown me nothing but hatred," Her green eyes glittered dangerously, "Now I find myself wondering whether this one dagger is capable of changing that foul attitude. Bend your knee to me, Umber, and beg my forgiveness, or die." Though everyone else remained neutral the Umber soldiers could be heard drawing their blades free. In response the present Westerling men moved forwards with their own weapons outstretched. Robb moved forwards a little bit more, fully prepared to intervene before a riot started.

Surprisingly enough Greatjon Umber ended the miniature battle which he himself had started. "AYE," He boomed above the growing ruckus, "You can kill me if you want, wench. I am willing to yield defeat but no Umber shall ever kneel to a Westerlander."

Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's golden hair rippled wildly in a sudden gust of dry wind. The bloody blade was still clenched in her hand. "Aesiyr," She hissed suddenly while pointing the dagger in his direction. Almost immediately Umber was knocked violently to his knees by an invisible force. He resisted for several long moments against the magic, but finally seemed to lose energy. No one dared to move in protest, as though fearing they would also be subjected to such sorcery. "You Northmen tend to forget that I am no ordinary Westerlander," Lilith spoke in her soft tenor once more, "Maegi can bring men to their knees in a way that no king can."

Robb Stark found himself trying to burn that last image into his memory. He did not care to remember the complete silence which followed her departure, but instead the almost regal confidence she displayed. The Young Wolf momentarily dared to allow his burgeoning feelings to take full control of his heart.

Imagining a world where he was not betrothed to a Frey, the War of Five Kings never started, and a golden-haired witch could have been his Lady.

OOOO

 _Alysanne Lefford stood in a body length nightgown. Spread before her was a large map with hastily carved sigil blocks. "Robb Stark is marching towards us," She told the three men who stood near her, "Why, when he can simply go back to the Riverlands the way he came?" The Lady of the Golden Tooth pointed towards the mountains surrounding her fortress. Her blue eyes suddenly pivoted towards a man located across the table, "Yes, Maester Erwyne?"_

" _If I may, my Lady," He looked quite hesitant to speak, "There have been rumours of the Reyne witch-."_

" _Unsubstantiated," Sneered a much younger man who had all the charm and pompousness of an untried knight. "House Sarsfield located the whereabouts of the Tarbeck-Reyne pretender's commoner relatives," He paused, "Reliable reports from Lannisport also claim that she was buried alive."_

" _Other reports also say that this witch was responsible for the Lannisport explosion," Countered the middle-aged man who stood closest to Alysanne, "A month after her alleged death. We must be willing to accept the potentiality of this witch actually existing." His voice became very worried, "The Westerling forces are said to have defected from Lord Tywin's army. My Lady, and House Brax claims that their smallfolk have sighted this pretender surrounded by a guard of Westerling soldiers." He moved to place his hand reassuringly over the Lady's own. "Your father trusted me enough to name me Castellan of the Golden Tooth," His bald head appeared slickened with sweat, "He would have taken this approaching threat with the utmost seriousness."_

 _A long moment passed as the pair maintained eye contact. Finally Alysanne Lefford's shoulders bent slightly in response. "We shall prepare the defenses to the best of our ability. You will review the resources in case of a siege, Maester Erwyne," She began to divvy the tasks among her three advisors. Finally they all left to shape the Lefford forces, almost one-thousand, into fighting shape. Lilith stood in the corner for a long while as Alysanne stooped over the map, releasing frustrated breaths. The blonde observed every inch of her new enemy, as though some secret chink could be found. When the Lady of House Lefford failed to do anything else significant Lilith gave in. Cancelling her Projection._

She jerked back into consciousness on the floor of her tent. Sitting straight Lilith peered over at the littering of grimoires that were either lying half open or stuffed full of notes. Sighing annoyedly the girl looked down at the bowl of noxious paste resting before her. One-thousand men waited for her inside of the Golden Tooth, prepared to repel any strikes she launched against their fortress. Explosions, curses, and even the earth itself were at her disposal, yet none of it seemed right. Even creating the Lannisport bomb had almost drained her magic to nothingness, curses required massive sacrifices, while the limits of her influence over the earth were unknown.

Honestly what really proved to be the greatest obstacle in deciding how to break the Golden Tooth was personal reluctance. Lilith knew that if she used enough magical energy, or sacrificed enough of the Westerling and Spicer lives beneath her control that she could capture Alysanne Lefford's seat. Though the biggest question was whether she could truly become the sort of conqueress that Robb Stark needed in order to win the war. If murdering all of those innocents in Lannisport made her a monster what would a militarial assault on the Golden Tooth do?

Rubbing both temples gently the beauty stood to her feet. Spread across her small mattress was a dress which was very far from humble. Even though many of Maggy's dresses would have sufficed just as well, Ser Rolph gifted her with a new one that very day. Lilith found herself quite pleased with the silky, Tyroshi concoction. Fiery red composed the entirety of the snug gown while golden streaks poked into the light with every ruffle of the main fabric. The cut was southern, both provocative and proud. Honestly it was ten times more impressive than the one she had been buried alive in, and that would prove beneficial to her plans. So, despite her reluctance to become even further indebted to the Spicers, Lilith wore it.

Strength flooded through her body at being clad in Reyne colors again. Lilith looked every bit the Lady of House Reyne, and she needed for every one of her followers and all of Robb Stark's forces to see it as well. The girl paused to tighten her sword around her waist before stepping from the tent. Three Westerling men waited outside, two followed close behind to keep an eye out for any potential threats while the remaining one remained in place. Her leather shoes clicked sharply against the rocky terrain, yet the armor of the men behind her clanked louder. Northern soldiers paused from such tasks as polishing their weapons to stare at the young witch.

Lilith focused her green eyes straight ahead while trying to focus on anything other than the attention. She found some comfort in how her braided mane of thick, gold hair swayed gently with each movement. Mere minutes flew by until the Westerling men behind her came to a halt. Towering above them was the massive structure which King Robb had ordered to be erected, not unlike a tent, but too massive to be called by the name of something so simple. "I must ask a favour of you two," The girl turned to face both of her guards. Her sweet voice went low into a whisper, "Ready three horses so that we are ready for travel after the meeting ends. Place the book lying on top of my trunk inside the saddle." They both nodded with the usual amount of seriousness. Lady Sybelle had placed all of House Westerling in a dangerous position, and even these soldiers seemed to understand how important it was for Lilith to succeed in her endeavors.

Turning away, after bidding the men a standard blessing of the Seven, she swept determinedly towards the structure. One of the soldiers posted outside of the entrance reached over to pull back the flaps for her. The assembly of Northern Lords that had already arrived instantly picked her apart with their tempestuous gazes. None more so than Greatjon Umber whose limp sword arm rested almost lifelessly on the table. Keeping her chin pointed Lilith ignored where the Lady Sybelle, Ser Rolph, and his glassy-eyed wife sat together, choosing instead to sit directly across from King Robb's designated spot. She sat there with a back which straighter than that of the chair which supported her weight. Slowly the King's most important vassals trickled into their respective seats.

Right when she lost hope of her King ever arriving the tent flaps were opened yet again. Chilly, early night air smacking into the back of Lilith's exposed neck with his appearance. Everyone stood to their feet in a show of respect only sitting again after he moved into his respective spot. The reports began soon after, more for her benefit than anyone else's. Several Lords described what their scouts had seen while surveying the Lefford lands. "Alysanne Lefford has taken as many of her men as possible into the Golden Tooth," A Blackwood Lord declared to his listening audience, "Given the mines it is possible that the entirety of her forces are within the fort."

Robb Stark glanced in her direction momentarily, Lilith was beginning to notice that he did that often. Allowed his river-blue eyes to pierce into her form when he believed she would not notice. That very afternoon during her fight with Umber he had been there, hiding behind the crowd. Placing both hands down on the table she opened her mouth and spoke, lest she waste an opportunity to keep his attention. "My Lords and Ladies. My King," Lilith emphasized at the end in an enticingly soft voice. He sat there, reclined in his massive chair with both elbows propped wide against the wooden arms. Using her grip on the table as leverage she stood as tall as possible. "You all are of the North, honorable and courageous to the last. Yet I am of western descent; Manipulative, cunning, and deceitful."

"At least," In a much more defiant tone the Lady continued, "That is what you would like to believe of me." Uncomfortable silence fell about thicker than a cloud of smoke. "Such presumptions are to be expected given the injustices served against you by my fellow Westermen," The firelight rippled across her dress casting fearsome colors about the space. "That is why I shall ride unaccompanied to the Golden Tooth this evening." Most of the Northmen, who especially detested her, failed to voice anything other than their extreme enthusiasm for the plan. Ser Rolph remained quiet at his end of the table having already been convinced of her idea earlier that day. "Respect must be earned, and by morning I swear that what was once an impregnable fortress shall be my repayment of House Stark's altruism to myself."

She could see that Robb Stark wished to outright dismiss her suicidal pledge. His lips were turned downwards in a concerned scowl, both hands gripped so tightly into the chair that the already pale skin was stretched bone-white. Yet he said nothing, most likely because so many of his Lords seemed to have a dissenting opinion. Instead resigning himself to sit there with a quietened tongue as he looked up at her concernedly. Lilith glanced over towards Ser Rolph who seemed to have noticed the King's odd behavior as well. Her mind wondered whether he was pleased that she had managed to capture Robb Stark's interest after all. She must have stood there for a long while contemplating it all in silence, for the assembly of Lords soon went silent again.

Fortunately Ser Rolph gave her the opportunity to escape as he brought the attention unto himself. Announcing that his own wife, a member of House Yarwick, would be travelling south to secure her father's aid, he allowed her to slip away. So that the rising moon could wash her shaken nerves with its radiance. After having recovered her wits Lilith noticed something a slight way's off. Moving with gingerly grace across the stone-littered ground she steadily made her way towards the guards. Both had saddled not only her own stallion, but theirs as well. "Did you put it in the saddle?" She asked upon arriving to where they stood waiting next to a triangular tent.

"Aye, milady," They crowed in unison revealing toothless grins. She smiled back wickedly. Neither of them had any idea what was going to happen that evening.

OOOO

The Golden Tooth was hardly the most impressive sight Lilith had ever seen. It was a far cry from the staggering heights of Casterly Rock, and failed to match the opulent beauty of Ashemark. Nestled between two mountains, the modest fort was situated directly atop the River Road. Though even without a grandiose appearance the ancestral seat of House Lefford had quite the reputation. For centuries it had stood in that exact spot protecting the Westerlands from all manner of invasions. If that were not enough the goldmines which extended deep beneath the structure were a major contributor to House Lannister's status as the wealthiest family in Westeros. "We shall tie the horses here," She said to the two men, "None of them have a chance of surviving otherwise."

Only one of the Westerling men did as asked while the other remained atop his saddle. "I refuse to waste my life for your insanity, woman," He barked down at her, "Which means there is no way I am strutting over to the Gold Tooth like a whore ready to be fucked up the arse!" Without waiting for a response he kicked his steed in the sides until it tromped away at full speed. The back of Lilith's throat burned with so much disgust at his cowardice that she want to swipe him off the horse with magic. Nevertheless she turned to face the remaining guard instead.

"Your safety cannot be guaranteed," Her voice trembled, "Yet I require a guard for this mission. Another set of eyes who will fight to the end. Are you willing to protect me?"

He did not answer for a moment, so she took the time to examine him. He was twenty years older than her at least and the glossy black hair atop his head was starting to turn grey. "My name is Crook, milady," He finally spoke, "I will join you in the Golden Tooth so long as you remember it." They walked side-by-side towards the fortress after tying their horses to a tree. "If I may, milady," Crook asked when they halted halfway towards the destination, "How do you reckon two people can capture the Golden Tooth. Let alone get in?"

Lilith smiled while reaching into her belt for the dagger which was covered in Greatjon Umber's blood. Maggy always said that a price was required to fuel magic, and the blood of such a gigantic man must have been worth quite a bit. Holding it up into the air beneath the moon she began to chant in the usual jumble of High Valyrian, old tongue, and Assh'ai. Crook seemed horrified by what happened after she finished speaking. A cloud passed over the moonlight leaving them temporarily engulfed in utter darkness, but then the light returned. He now _appeared_ to be garbed in the uniform of a Lefford soldier while Lilith no longer resembled a woman at all. Instead she was a man clad in the same, armored garb. "This glamour shall not last long," Lilith spoke in a deep voice, "We must hurry."

As fast as possible they marched ever closer to the Golden Tooth until a sentry above yelled for them to halt. "Who goes there?" She was too focused on maintaining the spell to respond, prompting Crook to yell up instead.

"We are scouts of Lady Alysanne's," He bellowed, "There is important news which must be delivered to her." Nothing happened for a very long while. Then the massive, metal doors began to slowly creak open. Lilith's fingers cut deep into the flesh of her palms. Most likely the men on the battlements assumed that they could handle any threat two, alleged scouts may pose. Unfortunately for them, they did not know that she was actually the witch of House Tarbeck-Reyne. Though the gate was not opened all the way there was enough space for the pair to wedge into a small gateway of sorts. She froze at what awaited them. At the end of the gateway a gruesome-looking portcullis was lowered as the second defense. Stationed behind it was one of the men from her Projection, the pompous Knight. Behind them the doors closed firmly shut again.

His handsome face was split into a cruel grin when he spoke, "Lady Alysanne has already recalled all of her scouts. What did you hope to gain by entering the Golden Tooth?" Lilith handed the grimoire tucked under her arm to Crook. She scanned their surroundings rather than answering him. Her emerald eyes widened at realizing that Lefford soldiers were stationed inside the slits of the gateway walls, pointing crossbows in their direction. A pre-emptive strike would be necessary to break out of the compromising position.

Casting aside the glamour with a small incantation Lilith summoned the earth to her aid. The soil struggled to obey her command momentarily allowing the soldiers an opportunity to begin firing. Seconds later, however, a massive crack resounded when her magic squeezed the earth through the cobbled gateway. Using borrowed time she twisted the tricky substance until a massive cocoon of dirt was shielding both herself and Crook from harm. "We must be prepared to fight once beyond the portcullis," The Father's Gift sung sweetly as it was tugged free, "Stay as close to me as possible." Breathing deeply Lilith pricked her index finger gently with the blade. Her blood streamed downwards into the roiling earth causing a tempestuous groan to roll across the hill below.

The connection she had forged with the element during her death was still too untrained to break down a portcullis. When combined with a sacrifice of blood, however, such a feat was more of a possibility. Already feeling weaker Lilith hissed out an incantation causing the shield of earth to erupt outwards in a fearsome wave. Her influence must have been unconsciously cast out further than originally believed, for the doors behind Crook exploded inwards from the pressure of a mud tsunami. Grassy soil now pooled around their knees while the chaotic nature of magic distracted the crossbow-men from firing their weapons. Continuing to chant, Lilith pointed her sword violently in the direction of the portcullis causing the river of soil to rise almost to the top of the gateway. The force of nature struck down like a snake, so blindingly fast that it erupted entirely beyond the gateway, and poured into the streets of the Golden Tooth.

Gasping for breath at having finished casting her spell Lilith pushed herself to race through what had once been a formidable barrier. Now it was only a bunch of grotesquely twisted metal. Delighted at having escaped from what could have been an early demise she dashed into the small town which blended seamlessly against the castle of Golden Tooth. People were peering out of windows and doors to see what was going on. That meant the entire city watch was probably on high alert, yet Lilith kept running. She moved faster until falling to the dirty ground in a shadowy alleyway. Crook looked exhausted himself despite not having expended half as much energy as her. "Hand me the book," Her voice was croaky. The leather tome was then spread open on the ground beneath the moonlight.

"Mines mean tunnels, which potentially run beneath the Gold Tooth's walls," She hissed to herself. Pages flew by until finally her movements paused on a dog-eared section of the book. "I never would have been able to operate this spell from outside of the walls," Lilith now spoke to Crook who was watching interestedly, "The further I am from the source, the more energy is required." A mud-coated finger ran shakily along the paper. "Here, from within the Golden Tooth I can destroy every defense from the ground up." Again she began to speak in the writhing combination of tongues. Each complex conjugation rattled painfully against her sore throat. Halfway through there was the sound of metal-clad feet approaching.

Crook moved to guard her from the three city watch guards that charged into the alley. Lilith focused on not rushing through the words lest she stumble and ruin everything. Above her the guards were attempting to subdue Crook who was proving himself to be a rather versatile fighter. Soon enough one of the three was lying dead on the ground with a throat that had been slashed to ribbons. Even as the other two tried desperately to prevent her from finishing the spell they faced mighty resistance from her protector. The last word fell off of Lilith's lips, and she found herself falling weakly to the ground as her consciousness was into the gold mines below.

While the sensation felt somewhat similar to Projection there was something very different about it. Almost as though she were living inside of her connection to the earth. Trying to direct her attention towards the present task Lilith felt the tunnels with her magic. Every particle of dirt buzzed violently, distracting her, yet she eventually managed to find a way to ignore it all. Having found the information needed Lilith partially returned to her body just enough so that she could connect with her magic. Keeping sight of the specific tunnels in her mind's eyes the girl wrenched every particle of earth inwards causing some of the mines below to collapse. Then with a bloodcurdling scream she pushed all of it towards one of the walls.

While the Lady of House Tarbeck-Reyne collapsed, her mighty magic sparked to life. Part of the hill upon which Golden Tooth was built exploded outwards in an avalanche of rocky loam. The centuries-old wall which had been constructed over that one set of tunnels collapsed after wobbling unsteadily after wobbling for several moments. In a ferocious display of skill Crook managed to slay the last guard, who was devastated by what resulted from his failure to halt the hostile spell. Stumbling over towards where Lilith lay unconscious Crook observed a scene which could only be called cataclysmic. Clouds of dust were pouring across the city in unforgivable waves. Horrified screams erupted into the air as waking citizens and soldiers realized that part of their once unbroken wall was now nothing more than useless debris. He stood that way until the morning when Robb Stark arrived to the Golden Tooth.

OOOO

Robb stared up at the Lefford castle with a tightened jaw. Never could he ever have imagined that such a mighty stronghold would be his for the taking. That overnight a breach in the centuries-old walls would appear, and the mighty gates would be left nothing more than mangled debris. Slowly the King observed what Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's powers could accomplish in a mere night. Women and children screamed in needless terror, even though no Northern soldier was allowed to rape or murder. Nearly half-a-thousand Lefford soldiers were surrendering bloodlessly to the opposing army. Somewhere out there was Lady Lilith.

"Your grace," A crooked-nosed man pushed through the throng of Northern Lords to reach him. Robb easily recognized the newcomer as Rolph Spicer. "My men have found Lady Lilith," His breaths came out short as though he had run across the entirety of the Golden Tooth with the news. "She is conscious, but far too weak to carry her own weight." Worry flooded Robb's belly, as he cursed himself for ever demanding the witch to capture the fortress. He swallowed thickly while staring up at the castle once more. Stone layer upon stone layer greeted the eye. Hidden behind those last walls was Alysanne Lefford, though he doubted she would remain hidden for long. Even with gold mines below it was most probably quite difficult to fit five-hundred men inside of the small space. "The Lady Lefford shall submit to us soon enough, King Robb," Spicer spoke in a monotone voice. As if what he had said were a commonly understood fact.

"What makes you suppose such a thing, Ser Rolph?" Maege Mormont answered for her sovereign, pushing into the conversation. The Lady Bear looked just as wild as ever, ready to sink claws into anything that even dared to bat an eyelash her way.

"One witch has managed to rip apart Lady Lefford's defenses in a single evening. When that aforementioned witch pardons all of those men we have apprehended," He smiled cruelly, "The ones inside shall surely defy their mistress for such clemency." Robb recalled learning of how Orys Baratheon was delivered Argella Durrandon naked and chained by her own men. He wondered then whether Alysanne Lefford would share a similar fate to the historical Lady of Storm's End. Just the thought of a Lady being treated so unjustly was enough to make his blood boil, her Westerland blood notwithstanding. There was a disturbance in the crowd behind him, causing the King to turn around.

Limping through the assembly of parting Lords was a _very_ disturbing sight. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne made her way towards him despite the mud, bruises, and dried blood which coated her body. A nasty cut was gushing from its place on her neck while that golden mane he loved so very much was crusted with filth. Even despite those things there was still something wild about her. An aura of victoriousness which was causing Robb's heart to throb in ways it never had before. He wanted to pull her into an embrace, force a kiss on those very pink, very rosy lips, yet he restrained himself. The knowledge that she was alive would remain his secret, personal pleasure.

Lady Lilith stopped before him, Maege Mormont, and Ser Rolph. Then she sunk into a curtsey, so much more graceful than any he had ever seen before, his own mother's included. "My King," Her voice did not crack though it sounded as if speech were painful, "Tywin Lannister's Golden Tooth has been smashed open. I hope that your noble cause has been served well."

"You have served the North and the Riverlands well, Lady Lilith," He spoke loudly, attempting not to get too lost in her emerald eyes. "Myself and my Lords will be eternally in your debt."

A wicked smile spread across her lips only to disappear when she stood completely straight once more. "I respectfully petition, your grace, for only two things," Everyone seemed surprised at her making such a public request of a monarch. "That this man standing behind me be knighted, for the loyalty he displayed to myself last evening," The mentioned guard seemed so surprised that he almost dropped the heavy book balanced in his bloody arms. "Furthermore," She continued over the whispers, "I beg that you grant mercy to the captured soldiers of House Lefford. Let them live, so long as they submit to our presence." Some of the Northern Lords seemed particularly unhappy with the last demand, no doubt longing to spill Westerland blood. Though the others seemed to have reached a similar decision to his own.

"This man will be made a knight," He echoed affirmatively, "And the soldiers of House Lefford shall be spared so long as they submit to the North. I swear it." Seemingly satisfied with the conclusion of their interaction she stepped closer to Rolph Spicer who stood next to Lady Maege. Most eyes were removed from them as onlookers began to shuffle through the hilly city once more. There were many tasks which still needed completion after all. "Tell our men to begin releasing the disarmed Lefford soldiers," He directed the she-bear, "Then assist the Greatjon in preparing for the campaign back to Riverrun." She left even though her gaze fell distrustfully upon Spicer beforehand. Robb focused his gaze away from his most trusted advisor, and nodded to Ser Rolph. "I would like for you to begin treating with Alysanne Lefford. Find a way for notes to be sent into this little holdfast. Do whatever necessary to make her listen to reason."

Clearly he had made the right choice in delegating this task to the ruthless merchant. A mirthful light flickered alive in his brown eyes as he nodded stiffly. "Of course, my King," Spicer agreed far too easily, "You will not be disappointed." Lilith and he watched as the man swept away into the growing crowd. They both turned to look up at the final obstacle posed by Golden Tooth. A walled holdfast with enough archers slits built in the stone walls to make any army, no matter how big, pause. There was no telling how many arrows were housed inside, and the plotting of the fortification on elevated ground would not help any attempts at victory.

"You have proven yourself more than worthy of advising me," Robb commented to the war-torn woman standing beside him. He tried to avoid looking into those green eyes again, so that they could not transform him into a puddle. Swallowing, as he usually did around Lady Lilith, the King baited her into speaking. "Do you have any suggestions?"

She stepped forth without pause while a slight limp heeded her progress. Finally coming to a stop beside him Lilith spoke in a croaky, broken voice which Robb still somehow found to be the most beautiful he had ever heard. "Leave my forces here to hold the Golden Tooth while we visit Riverrun," The woman nodded, mostly to herself. Robb shivered violently finding that he enjoyed that one word far too much; we. "Lady Alysanne will soon be wedded to Raynald Westerling, who can be convinced to forfeit his claim to the Crag in exchange for the lands we currently stand upon." He agreed easily enough with that idea, suddenly realizing just how important his alliance with Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was.

This young beauty was of the Westerlands. Her mere support provided him leeway in not only conquering Tywin Lannister's territory, but rearranging the political landscape in his favour. Wars were easier fought when one managed to find a foothold through the foe's defenses. "By making Raynald the Lord of the Golden Tooth we will force all of these captured Lefford men to swear me their allegiance," She smiled dangerously, "That will allow us to safely amass whatever coalition can be 'persuaded' from Tywin Lannister's claws separately of your army. When Houses Yarwick and Lefford are sworn to me I can begin preparing to raid the coast."

At this point he bravely peeked up from those pink lips to her mud-stained face instead. "The Lefford gold will be transported through the Riverlands to White Harbor, along with whichever Lord you designate regent of the North." He had barely even contemplated the gold cache of Golden Tooth. The Greatjon had captured Nunn's Deep, yet even that would pale in comparison to whatever Alysanne Lefford was hiding. "In the meantime I will be bringing a small group of companions to the Riverlands," She transitioned smoothly, "Eleyna Westerling is just old enough to be wedded and bedded to Tytos Brax, who was captured at the Whispering Wood. This might be enough to force Hornvale onto our side in the war."

"Then I shall arrange for Anise Spicer to be transported to White Harbor where her child shall be born," Lady Lilith finished with an exhausted sigh. When those bruised lids closed Robb found himself released from the riveting spell cast by her green eyes. Though his heart would never allow him to be wholly free from Lilith's influence. He wanted nothing more than to pull the tired woman into both of his arms. Hold her there and refuse to let go, so that she would never be able to flee on another suicidal quest again. Instead the young King kept as far away as possible to avoid doing such a spectacularly idiotic thing.

"Why did you offer your life so freely? On such an impossible notion as taking the Golden Tooth with only a single guard at your side?" Robb wondered curiously. He decided that this was something he needed to know.

The woman simply shrugged with her shoulders slumping, "I could not expect any of my men to sacrifice for me when I had not sacrificed my own life for them." Without another word she turned to begin marching back down the hill. No doubt to find some sleep and a hot bath. He resigned himself to looking up at the yellow clouds above wanting nothing more than to forget his sudden urges.

OOOO

Now I am sure that people will say Lilith's taking of the Golden Tooth so 'easily' was impossible. However, I feel that if a dragon can destroy Harrenhal then a witch can smash the Golden Tooth's defenses. I also hope that the chemistry between Lilith and Robb is believable as well, since that has been a struggle to will be a lot of drama in the next chapter, so buckle up! Thanks for reading.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Assassins and Triumphs.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

There was very little magical energy in her weary body, yet Lilith stood propped against a rickety table anyways. Settled before her were the instruments necessary for Projection. Already she had forced herself to spy on both her enemies and allies. Tywin Lannister was already aware of the threat she posed to him, as the Westerling, Yarwyck, and Spicer men in his service had deserted his army. He did not seem the sort who revealed private plots to _anyone_ , however, so no useful information could be gleaned from that corner of the world. The witch then continued to Project herself into various castles of Westerland Lords. All of them were unsettled by the fast-spreading tale of how she managed to capture the Golden Tooth with sorcery.

Lilith felt herself growing inexcusably weak and longed for nothing more than to sink into the steaming tub which sat behind her. Several of the guards had managed to fill it with a combination of honey, milk, and floating petals retrieved from the captured town of Golden Tooth. She honestly found herself taken aback by the quality of effort the Westerling men had put into the task. One more thing had to be done before the exquisite bath could be fully enjoyed. In Lannisport, the golden beauty spent lots of time Projecting herself into the dungeons of Riverrun which Jaime Lannister now called home. Her heart pumped with a very pleasant feeling of satisfaction at seeing Tywin Lannister's eldest son roll in his own shit. Covered in mud and blood while his jailors verbally tortured him.

"Jaime Lannister," Her croaky voice hissed out the name as her face fell, again, into the nasty concoction housed within the bowl. The young witch found herself standing in a marshy woodland rather than the dungeons of Riverrun. Jaime Lannister, still covered in shit, was being led through the tangled undergrowth by a woman dressed in full armor. His hands were bound with rope though it became apparent that he was no longer a prisoner to the North. He gloated openly to the warrior-woman, Lilith heard him call her Brienne of Tarth, about how he would soon be at Harrenhal. All thanks to the stupidity of Catelyn Stark. Appreciative that Tywin's son was much looser with sensitive information she cancelled the Projection swiftly.

Putrid liquid dripped from her mud-crusted face as she rushed to the flaps of her tent. "Fetch me Maggy Spicer now. Tell her to bring an inhalant of powdered sleep," Lilith practically snarled at one of the three. He fled so swiftly that her eyes went out of focus temporarily. The girl turned to one of the others, "You go find a Maester. Hand him this message," A hastily scrawled note was shoved in the guard's gauntlet-clad hand, "Tell him to send it to Riverrun immediately." Without watching to see if he left Lilith spun back into the tent. Her head was pounding nastily from exhaustion, but there was too much that needed to happen. She was rifling through various belongings when someone entered the tent. Spinning around her green eyes connected with the form of a recently knighted Ser Crook.

He seemed concerned with not only her appearance but state of mind as well. Wasting no time the girl explained what was happening to him before launching into the next phase of her plan. "You must wait here until Maggy arrives. Then once you have what she brings, you must prepare a party of our fastest riders," She went so far as to give him a specific landmark that the travelling pair had mentioned during her Projection. They conversed swiftly until Maggy hobbled into the tent escorted by the guard who had been sent to find her. "Tell the King that I request his audience now," Lilith snapped easily as he rushed away once again. She turned to the Maegi who was grinding a mound of stemmy things into dust with her splintering pestle. Soon enough Crook was tucking a small pouch of powder into the pocket of his leather doublet. "Catelyn Stark will not have sent a nincompoop to escort Jaime Lannister, Crook," Lilith advised, "If this Brienne of Tarth proves herself a threat toss that powder in her face. Now go. Prepare only what is necessary for the journey."

"Yes, my Lady," He nodded hurriedly before barrelling out of the tent.

Lilith wrenched her ruined gown off of her body in that moment. Maggy's piercing gaze did not matter in that moment, nor did Robb Stark's impending arrival. With a mighty groan she dropped her body into the soothing bath. "Will I ever be able to rest easily again, Maggy?" The beautiful girl wondered deliriously after rising with a face cleared of dirt. Every day there was a new threat to face. A new obstacle to overcome. A new Stark-caused fallacy which needed instant correction. Gnarled fingers tangled into her wet scalp with little warning before kneading deep circles into the flesh. Lilith let loose a moan as the tension in her body began to ebb away.

"Do not worry about Jaime Lannister," Maggy assured her gently, "The Westerling men are skilled hunters." They then began to converse quietly about more soothing topics. Anise's pregnancy would most certainly result in a healthy boy, for Maggy was very skilled when it came to reproductive spells. Ser Rolph's wife, Brealla Yarwick, would arrive at the Golden Tooth with two-hundred-fifty of her father's remaining men. Lilith was losing sense of her surroundings as the heat of the water and their gentle conversation lulled her into a deep sleep.

OOOO

Lady Alysanne Lefford stood inside the sept of Golden Tooth. Next to her was a very proud-looking Raynald Westerling. He no doubt was eager to shed his claim to House Westerling in exchange for that of the more prestigious House Lefford. Lilith smiled mirthfully at that. No matter how hard Lady Lefford had resisted during the negotiations of peace King Robb overpowered any protests of a union between the Crag and Golden Tooth. Now the vows were almost completed, and the newlyweds would be sent up to the fortress so that they could finish consummating this alliance. Meanwhile most of the Stark forces, except a few hundred, were prepared to march towards Riverrun. Hidden within the ranks of well-armed soldiers were entire trunks filled to the brim with the spoils collected from the Lefford mines.

Five-million dragons worth of had been readied for transportation to White Harbor. She wondered if Robb Stark would simply place that stock of wealth into an investment such as ships and sellswords, or save it for a rainy day. There were far more pressing things to be concerned with though. Would Eleyna Westerling's imminent marriage to Tytos Brax yield anymore forces to Lilith's cause? Could she truly trust Crook to return Jaime Lannister back into Stark custody? Would King Robb's appointed regent be capable of uniting Houses Manderly, Ryswell, and Dustin against the Ironborn? Too many uncertainties were spinning around in Lilith's brain for comfort. She was so preoccupied, in fact, that the final vows almost slipped passed her entirely. Rather than joining in with the bedding ceremony Lilith remained standing alongside Raynald's mother Lady Sybelle, and his sisters Jeyne and Eleyna.

Lady Lefford was stripped naked by a pack of rowdy, Westerling soldiers prior to being carted out of the sept. The girl released a sigh of relief at having one less enemy to worry about. Alysanne Lefford would be pregnant in no time, hopefully, and her thousand soldiers bound to the resurgent Tarbeck-Reyne rebellion. "You have accomplished something very great for my family today," Lady Sybelle whispered suddenly, "Just remember that Tywin Lannister can destroy it all with a flick of his fingers." Then she marched out of the sept followed closely by her two daughters. Lilith's head tipped backwards slowly, golden hair caressing her silk-clad bottom gently. The statues of the Seven stared down at her judgmentally with their perfectly sculpted faces.

"Do you worship the Seven?" Asked a gruff voice from behind her. Lilith twisted around only to find that she was trapped in place by Robb Stark's blue gaze.

"I worship no Gods," She spoke loudly, but hoped that none had heard. The last thing she needed was to be labelled blasphemous as well as an evil sorceress. Those four words were the absolute truth though. Maggy's warnings of Maegi who sold their souls to deities was still ringing plainly in the back of her head. To bend before an altar would be asking for some fearsome deity to sink its claws into her.

"Aye," The King agreed despite misunderstanding her reasons, "I haven't worshipped a weirwood tree since my father died. Not when the Old Gods allowed such an honorable, pious man to die under the orders of a bastard King." His voice wavered, yet he continued on. "When I was a boy he liked to sit in the Godswood of Winterfell. Sometimes he spent entire hours out there sharpening his blade in the silence." Wistful longing filled those blue eyes nearly causing Lilith to drown in them. She could imagine what he had looked like before the War of Five Kings started. Innocent with a bright aura. Now there was simply something haunting about the King of the North, and unfortunately it made him all the more alluring.

"My father taught me to wield a sword," She confided in response, "He always told me that he had met women who could fight better than most men. I thought he would always be there for me…" A small gulp reminded Lilith of just how dry her throat was. Not once since her father's death had she spoken of her feelings. "The Sarsfield men that captured my father staked him to the ground. They cut off his genitals," Her increasingly teary voice wobbled, "Then sewed his lips shut before setting him on fire." Shaking violently Lilith continued, "I have no idea what happened to my grandfather, but I am not sure if I want to know anyways."

"Lady Lilith," King Robb spoke in a soft tone, as he stepped closer, "Your father would be proud to see you now. A true she-lion, who commands more than a thousand men, and can even put the Greatjon in his place." The compliment made her stomach roil with self-loathing.

"He never wanted any of this for me," Lilith allowed herself to make direct eye contact with him. Even though she knew doing such a thing would leave her feeling as though she were shipwrecked in the bluest of oceans. "My father is dead because I wished for something more than to wed a farmer's boy. He protected me my whole life, and I allowed them to kill him just like that."

The King stepped closer causing the girl to realize how near they now were to one another. "The Lannisters killed my father. Does that make me guilty of his death?" Robb's point was a fair one, Lilith supposed, but Ned Stark's death was caused by his own honorable stupidity. Walder Miller's death was caused by her stupid longing to rise beyond that respectable cottage in the Sarsfield lands to claim a noble inheritance.

"No, my King," She agreed easily, " _You_ are completely guiltless." Without another word the witch stepped away from his dangerous proximity as though breaking free of a spiderweb. Those dangerous, blue eyes followed her all the way out of the sept.

OOOO

Lilith rode in the wagon with Maggy during the journey to Riverrun. Crook had taken her beloved destrier with him on the hunt to recapture Jaime Lannister, though she did not mind. That horse was part sand steed, and could easily outrun most others. Even if he had not borrowed the stallion her present situation would not have changed anyways. There was no strength left in Lilith's body for any lengthy journeys by horseback. Fortunately this brought to her attention a situation which needed to be handled with the greatest precision. Anise Spicer was dangerously defiant.

Normally the witch would not have cared about what one of Ser Rolph's daughters thought of her. However, Anise was one of the most important pawns at her disposal, and the Lannister spawn in her belly would be useful in building bridges with the North. She felt guilty for what needed to happen so that Anise Spicer would forever be silenced. Yet every time the pregnant woman hissed, 'Murderess. Whore of witchcraft,' Lilith felt a bit more resolved. The girl waited until the Northern procession had stopped near the Tumblestone River two nights into the surprisingly speedy journey. Slipping from the wagon she made her way through the marshy, muddy terrain. Never in her life could she remember having seen so many rivers in one day.

Walking through the broken ranks of Northern soldiers was much easier to deal with than previously before. At least three-quarters of the men now seemed to realize that the 'Westerland Whore' was a beneficial ally to their cause. The last quarter seemed incapable of recognizing her role in the smashing of Golden Tooth. Accordingly she managed to arrive at King Robb's freshly erected tent without a single, lewd remark shouted her way. "Lady Lilith," He did not rise when she entered, but the girl hardly blamed him. Travelling by horse for long distances was rather taxing on one's arse. "Please sit," He motioned to a raggedy chair which looked much more comfortable than the wooden seats of the wagon. Lilith slipped gracefully into the seat despite the massive blade hanging from her waist.

"I must request that you agree to a minor alteration in our contract," She jumped right into business, hoping to avoid the awkward tension that hid behind all of their conversations. His eyebrows rose in an incredulous fashion, yet he did nothing more than lean back to listen. "Anise Spicer is far too uncontrollable," Lilith declared, "Ser Rolph will easily grant me his permission to have her wedded to either Wendel or Marlon Manderly. Her child would then remain a viable bargaining chip in the future. Many Houses would turn on their overlords just for a chance at the Lannisport."

The Stark's dark brows crinkled together in slight protest. "That sounds reasonable. None of the Northern Lords can deny you that much with all of the bounty collected from Golden Tooth." His 'but' came like a slap. "We have been extremely lucky with our campaign in the Westerlands," He conceded, "Yet what makes you think that any more Lannister vassals shall fall our way? Will any of them truly side with you just for a _chance_ at Lannisport?"

"I said nothing about House Lannister's vassals," The blonde corrected smoothly, "We need to expand our horizons into more… Neutral territory." He cocked his head with curiosity shining in those damnably blue eyes, causing a flare of something hot and unfamiliar to bolt through her body. Breathing a bit more heavily she continued, "Ser Rolph informed me before your grace's departure from Golden Tooth on eastern politics. Many Vale Houses are loyally devoted to your cause, yet Lysa Arryn refuses to take a stance in this war." Lilith slipped closer towards him, "Both Lord Yohn Royce and Ser Symond Templeton are relatives of House Stark. However, they would never openly declare for you without the support of Lysa's stronger vassals."

Robb did not seem bored by the recitation of facts that he was already familiar with. By now the King seemed to have realized that she could twist what seemed common knowledge into an almost unrecognizable form. "Jeyne Westerling, though considered undesirable due to her Spicer heritage, now has a very desirable dowry. A modest portion of the gold sitting in our camp at this moment should be enough leverage to secure a marriage with Roland Waynwood, grandson of Anya Waynwood." Her fingers ghosted across the tabletop in a display of absent minded contemplation. "Lord Horton Redfort shall be promised a future betrothal with whatever is pushed out of Anise Spicer's womb. If these offers are accepted they will bring Houses Royce and Templeton closer to declaring for the North, and secure nearly fifteen-thousand Vale men."

Much of this information was recycled from Ser Rolph who seemed to have proven himself a better politician than even herself. Lilith could admit that her perspective was far too inexperienced and devoted towards nabbing the Westerlands. The Spicer head was proving far more capable than her at analyzing how _everything_ played into the bigger picture. Something which Lilith did not enjoy as it meant he was several steps ahead of her. Ignorance had already proven itself many times over a death sentence in political games. "We will have Gawen Westerling send a betrothal contract to Anya Waynwood upon our return to Riverrun," He affirmed succinctly, "Ser Rolph's is undoubtedly already halfway to the Redfort." The humor in his voice did nothing to settle Lilith's qualms about Rolph Spicer's formidable prowess. She moved to stand when the King waved for her to stay seated. "I would greatly enjoy if you stayed for luncheon. They always bring far too much food for me to finish on my own." His excuse was a poor one, yet the girl slowly lowered herself back into the seat.

Only fools refused the orders of Kings. The conversation flowed easily between them for a very long period of time. He regaled her with tales of Winterfell, that almost fantastical stronghold which Lilith could remember Ulric lecturing her about as a child. A rather nostalgic expression passed across Robb's face as his eyes took on a dreamy quality. "What of your childhood?" He asked her suddenly. She had already told him the general details of growing up in Sarsfield, but that hardly included any sentimentality. Swallowing a little she began to tell him of her grandfather who bred horses, and her father whose dashing smile could melt the Wall. They chattered for so long that when Lilith was finally allowed to go free it was late in the afternoon. Men were packing up for the final stretch towards Riverrun which would occur in the morning.

Her green eyes smoldered slightly at the idea of being forced to deal with Anise's antics any longer. Yet that particular issue would be resolved in no time at all when Wyman Manderly wedded the pregnant Spicer to either his youngest son or younger brother. Instead she attempted to focus on some of the important information Robb Stark had let slip to her over their lengthy luncheon. Upon arrival at Riverrun he planned to appoint Maege Mormont temporary regent in the North. This position would be partially shared with Catelyn Stark who obviously could not be fully trusted after having released Jaime Lannister. Lord Manderly was already mobilizing in preparation for the arrival of the first host to return north in almost a year. Even Robb was uncertain whether the Manderly host remaining above the neck of close to ten-thousand could drive out the Ironborn alone. Houses Ryswell and Dustin would prove just as important in regaining the North, though their loyalty was questionable.

She hoped beyond all hopes that Moat Cailin could be regained by the Stark forces. A king without a way home was no king at all. The longer the Ironborn kept their forces trapped south the faster Tywin Lannister could bleed them dry. Her feet came to a gradual halt as she realized that there was a strict timeline which needed following in order for this war to be won. Much like everyone else Lilith had forgotten those words. The Stark Words. _Winter Is Coming_. Shadows were lengthening around her, though none of them came from any other humans. Most of the soldiers were more concentrated towards the edges of the camp putting away what little was set up in the first place. A prickle ran along her spine as a crack from between two tents caused her to turn around.

Lilith folded both arms as that horrible sensation of being watched flooded all five of her senses. A mighty force yanked her to the ground only a split moment later. The girl's aching diaphragm struggled to capture at least a bit of air from within the river of mud she was currently clawing through. No magical energy at all, sword still undrawn, and an unidentified foe sloshing towards her through the runny earth. Both feet slipping the blonde finally stood only to find herself kicked in the ribs by a booted foot. She flew through the air before crashing into a dead fire pit. Ashes exploded upwards preventing any breaths of air from passing into her dirt covered lips. "Tywin Lannister wants your head, whore of House Reyne," A nasally voice snickered, definitely male. "He said that it will be piked next to your father's from atop the gates of Lannisport!"

That sick noise of leather squelching through mud left Lilith reeling in disgust. "Some say that your father's cock was stuffed in his mouth before they sewed it shut. I wonder if your tits are pretty enough for the same honor." He advanced ever closer. Finally managing to sit up straight was only a small victory when the grime coating her eyelids prevented any light from passing through. This was a battle that could not be won on her own, Lilith realized with bone-chilling horror, and there was almost nothing to be done about it. Though there was still that last bit of energy, the sliver which connected to her very life itself. Enough to draw attention at the least, enough to kill this bastard at the most. Maggy taught her at the very beginning of their training never to accidentally draw upon that well of power. Doing such could snuff one out as easily as a candle.

Deciding that she would die either way Lilith delved deeper into her very being than ever before. Pulsating, right next to her beating heart, was a pocket of power. With a scream the young girl wrenched it out into the world causing the carefully constructed bubble to explode. Her would-have-been assassin screamed as two, twin crunches cracked across the air. Lilith's body was shaking so violently that no satisfaction could be gained from her adversary's sudden misfortune. While the uncontrollable shakes rolled across her body Lilith's eyelids finally cracked apart as the eyeballs started to roll uncontrollably. Muscles jerking, lungs contracting, she realized that this was a seizure. Her head tipped to the side and every so often her eyes would roll just enough that the man came into view.

He was writhing in agony. Entire portions of his legs were missing and scarlet waves were streaming from those stumps. Red was a lovely color, Lilith realized as her body began to stop shaking. Blood could almost pass for a deep, Dornish wine, she realized as her eyes focused inwards. Victory would be her's, the witch realized, and this man's blood her spoils. Something primal jerked through her body as she was almost thrown onto all fours. Not much later Lilith found herself sitting atop her struggling victim. With feral rakes of her nails she battered at his remaining defenses until he was a useless, submissive, lump of flesh. "Tywin Lannister shall never triumph over me," She screamed down at him, but strangely enough he did not seem to understand.

Somehow that prophecy managed to inject itself into her nearly animalistic thought patterns. Maggy hissed, " _She shall bathe in the blood and marrow of her fellow man_." Lilith decided that the old Maegi was incorrect. She would not bathe in the blood and marrow of her fellow man, but she _would_ drown in it.

OOOO

Lilith spent the remaining trip in somewhat of a shock. No political schemes rattled about in her brain. In fact, nothing much was functioning inside of that head at all. Self-loathing mixed dangerously with Maggy's sympathetic explanation of what had occurred. Magic always came with a price though some variations were of a much greater cost than others. When she pulled at that forbidden reserve of magic, with desperation pumping so furiously through her veins, Lilith sacrificed something great indeed for survival. 'A life must be repaid with energy equivalent to a life's worth,' Maggy had intoned during the first cycle of her apprentice's catatonic state.

That was when the mother of all House Spicer made a devastating revelation. 'You allowed yourself to grow so weak that the darkest of magics was exposed as a result. Maegi are not special because they can perform magic. We are special because we can obtain the energy required to rouse it in the first place.' At this point the hag lowered her voice as if to prevent a massive secret from being overheard, 'Blood and bone are simply alternative words for vessels. Containers meant to protect that very power which so many fear. You were strong enough before without me telling you this information. Imagine what you would be able to accomplish with the blood of a King.'

Honestly the girl did feel much stronger than she had directly before being attacked. Revulsion tumbled across her stomach at the idea of what was necessary to trigger this sudden revitalization. Killing Lannister soldiers was one thing, but consuming the blood of other people…She was determined that no such thing would ever happen again. No matter what obstacle needed to be overcome. Upon arriving at Riverrun Lilith finally decided that it was well overdue for her to break free from the self-loathing thoughts. For the first time since being placed in that rickety wagon she stepped out into the sunlight.

Though less impressive than the Westerland sunshine she loved it was still better than an enclosed space. Not having to remain in a close proximity to Anise Spicer was also greatly appreciated. Since learning of what happened to the would-have-been assassin the pregnant woman seemed to grow even more disdainful of Lilith. Gone was any sympathy that the witch might have had, and she could hardly wait to tell Anise of her coming marriage to a Manderly. Trudging about the muddy riverbanks of Riverrun Lilith decided easily that the Tully seat barely held a candle to Casterly Rock. There was, however, no hateful resentment pricking at the back of her mind as she stared up at the capital of the Riverlands.

Several hours were spent exploring the greater parts of Riverrun. Though it was exciting to examine a place full of so much history she was not truly interested in sightseeing. No, Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was attempting to gain as much information as possible from loud conversations between Tully forces and returning soldiers. Much had occurred during Robb Stark's prolonged absence, almost enough to fracture the Northern army beyond repair. In a rage Rickard Karstark murdered both Tion Frey and Willem Lannister as retaliation for Catelyn Stark allowing Jaime Lannister to go free. Rumor had it that King Robb was contemplating having the imprisoned Lord executed. Especially given that the Stark's were stubborn practitioners of 'honorable' justice. If that dilemma were not trouble enough there was further drama regarding Edmure Tully's recent 'victory' over Tywin Lannister. Throwing the enemy forces back across the Red Fork apparently allowed Tywin to participate in the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

With a pounding headache Lilith arrived once more at the conclusion that she bound her fate to inept morons. Who in their right mind contemplated executing such a powerful Lord as Rickard Karstark during the middle of a war? This went without mentioning that Catelyn Stark was also guilty of betraying her King, and deserved punishment too. Further driving the point home was that Robb Stark left Riverrun without informing Edmure of the plan. How could he have expected a favorable outcome if the man left in charge of the attack was unaware of any strategies? Fortunately she now had her King's ear opened to any suggestions. These blunders could be remediated easily enough. Leaving the ranks of soldiers to continue gossiping Lilith swept easily through Riverrun. Eager-to-please Knights gave directions in every hallway of the crowded castle reminding Lilith that her marriage would soon be a matter of discussion.

Eventually she arrived at the, heavily guarded, chambers of Robb Stark. Robin Flynt did not dare protest her entrance after their last encounter. The girl honestly wished that he had at least given her some warning, however, for the scene inside was rather uncomfortable. Catelyn Stark was standing in the subdued manner of a beaten dog. A handsome man in his mid to late twenties stood directly across from the Lady as an older man and Robb Stark berated him verbally. All of them spun around to stare at her for daring to interrupt this rather intimate confrontation. "My King," She fell upon her courtesy for some sort of stability, "I apologize for intruding."

"What gives you the right to enter without permission," Catelyn Stark snapped suddenly, an enraged look of cognizance in her blue eyes.

"Lady Lilith has proven herself a more than trustworthy advisor on many occasions, mother," King Robb answered for her. The frostiness in his tone chilled Lilith to the bone. "She is the only reason we even have a hope of recapturing the Kingslayer. After you so generously released him," His mother rattled with barely restrained grief, yet he continued on. "Now sit down, and quell your tongue." Returning all of his attention to her he motioned to the men, "These are my uncles Brynden and Edmure Tully." More than familiar with the Blackfish's stellar reputation Lilith regarded the young heir of Riverrun. He kept his dark-auburn hair cropped short, and wore a Tully colored cloak over a suit of armor. Those eyes were the exact same shade of blue as Robb Stark's, but did not quite seem capable of turning her into a puddle. Lord Edmure also seemed to be of a much weaker constitution than his nephew. The sort of man that could be easily manipulated by nothing more than a pair of shapely breasts.

Unfortunately Lilith was the first to admit that her breasts were _very_ shapely, and Edmure Tully's eyes seemed to be pointed in an innapropriate direction. "It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of your kin, your grace," She smiled despite Lady Stark's bitter gaze. "Several matters came to my attention that I wished to discuss with you."

"Which matters, my Lady," Robb asked in an unsurprised tone.

"All of them, of course," Her voice was sincere enough, yet there was no keeping a sharp edge out of it. "In particular, though, I needed to mention a growing rumor among the Karstark men. That you intend to execute Lord Rickard Karstark."

"He defied my orders," Robb retaliated with a flared nostrils. Proving himself every inch the boy he was trying so hard not to be. "Lord Rickard slaughtered two innocent children who had no responsibility for the murder of his own sons."

"Yet your Lady mother defied your orders when she released Jaime Lannister. I myself murdered countless children in the explosion of Lannisport. Should either of us be beheaded?" Her question seemed to force a bit of realization across his face, yet there was still far too much irrational stupidity for comfort. "I would never presume to tell you not to execute one of your own men. However, do understand that taking Lord Karstark's head is not quite so just as it might appear. Unless you are ready to judge Lady Stark and I in a similar manner."

"What would I do then, my Lady?" He asked in a careful voice. Trying not to look too dependent upon her counsel, for she was still a woman after all. "How should I handle one of my Lords spitting at my crown by committing treason?"

"Imprison him until the war has been won. I once spoke with you on the matter of priorities. Dealing with an unruly Lord who is not a primary threat distracts from the true objective." Her lips twisted, "We are here to slay Lannisters. To avenge the injustices done against both of our families. Not to weaken our position with internal squabbles."

"Aye, the girl is right," Brynden Tully supported her gruffly, "Justice does not exist during war. Ignore Karstark's crime for now." The King tightened his fists momentarily before nodding with a clenched jaw.

They all stood somewhat silently until Lilith spoke again. "I also must inform you that I will be making a brief trip north of Riverrun," Her voice left no room for negotiation, "The day that the host leaves for White Harbor." Lady Stark appeared to be very interested by this change of conversation. Her forehead crinkled as though picking the two sentences apart for any hidden details. There would be no further information coming out of her mouth however.

"A guard of fifty Stark soldiers will escort you," Robb answered simply. At least he would not press her for answers she did not want to give.

"Fifty guards, Robb?" Catelyn Stark queried with an astonished tone. "Is that not rather excessive? Should those men be spared for other tasks?"

"What other tasks?" Robb hissed coldly, venom practically dripping from between those kissable lips. "Hunting Jaime Lannister? Keeping the Karstarks from inciting a riot? One of the other problems that you have created?" His mother simply lowered her wounded gaze to the floor. That pitiful sight stirred sympathy inside of Lilith's not entirely blackened heart. Lady Stark might have a wretched personality, but she was clearly a devoted mother. The sort that would do anything for her children even if it meant releasing Jaime Lannister from captivity. Unable to endure the family's severely dysfunctional status any longer Lilith bent into a graceful curtsey. She exchanged the required parting courtesies feeling both Edmure's and Robb's blue gazes on her body the whole while.

OOOO

 _The screams were louder than anything Lilith ever heard before. Triumphant wails caused the air to vibrate, stomping boots caused the muddy ground to quake, and beneath the whipping winds one could almost believe that nature itself approved of this vivid scene. Men bearing the white sun of House Kartstark attempted to break through a barricade of Stark soldiers. Fighting with a ravenous bloodlust that was only further fuelled by Riverland mead. Lilith stood in the middle of it all. She attempted to see what was worth such a fuss, that an entire army could unravel into utter chaos. Finally her green eyes managed to catch a glimpse of the man being led to Riverrun in chains._

 _He was drenched in shit, mud, and blood. Handsome features slightly crazed, this prisoner carried the look of total defeat. 'Look upon Jaime Lannister,' Hissed an eerily familiar voice from behind her, 'He was only barely recovered thanks to your quick actions.' Unable to turn around due to some strange compulsion Lilith continued to listen as the figure spoke from behind her. Last time when he entered her dreams she recalled that only his enigmatic voice was present. Now a full-bodied spectre loomed with a remarkable amount of height above her smaller frame. 'This will not prevent the coming slaughter,' A sinister tone delivered that warning, 'Do not become prey to a false sense of security. Lest you become wedded to red.'_

 _The sudden rush of air which smacked against her back was Lilith's indication that he was gone. Only seconds after a sigh of relief escaped her lips she felt them return. Those blasted hands were back. Golden, grey, and fiery fingers created a blinding flash as they ripped possessively into her flesh._

Lilith woke from her comfortable bed with a pounding heart. Brushing a wild mane of golden hair from her green eyes she marched to the window. The girl smiled with genuine glee at what awaited. Throngs of Northern soldiers, some one-hundred strong, were indeed celebrating the fortunate return of Jaime Lannister to captivity. She stood there for a very long time, even after the prisoner was acquainted once again with his cell.

OOOO

Thanks for reading! There were a lot of pieces in this chapter, and I hope it all didn't seem loosely connected. Please review.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Seagard.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

The jumbled party was assembled in a rather disorganized manner across Riverrun's courtyard. Soldiers were chatting boisterously with departing comrades, blushing maids bid improper farewells to the few departing Lords, and Catelyn Stark stood in the middle of it all with crossed arms. She, like most men, turned when a young woman slipped through the open doors of Riverrun. Hoster Tully spoke only once of the Tarbeck-Reyne Rebellion during Catelyn's childhood. 'Ellyn Reyne bit off more than she could chew,' He warned, 'Acknowledge your own limitations or it might one day doom our bloodline as well.' The Noblewoman knew that this was a rare instance where her beloved father had been wrong. Ellyn Reyne merely sacrificed her life so that this sorceress granddaughter could carry the fight on.

Now several thousand of Tywin Lannister's soldiers were rebelling in a way Catelyn never before considered possible. This witch's mere existence not only disproved that the Lannister's were a House which demanded respect, but that House Stark was not to be counted out so soon. Even though she appreciated everything 'Lady Lilith' had accomplished there was still a sort of distrust bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Her eldest son's eyes never held such a look of obsessive infatuation. "She is twice as beautiful as Ellyn Reyne was," The Blackfish remarked from where he stood next to his niece. "Hoster tried to arrange a marriage between myself and her grandmother, so many years ago. If Ellyn Reyne were such a pleasing sight as her granddaughter I might well have fought harder for the union."

"Promise to keep Robb from breaking his oath to the Freys with that girl," Catelyn grasped at her uncle's hand beseechingly. "I will have no influence from White Harbor," The Lady spoke bitterly of her imminent exile back to the North. Nothing stung more than being banished by a child who no longer loved her. Even knowing that Bran and Rickon might still be alive did nothing to soothe such a particular pain.

"Your son is besotted with that girl. I could not fight him away with a sword, Cat," Brynden Tully's voice carried no humor. "Besides, who gives a wet shit for the Freys after what that witch has done for us? Nearly two-thousand Westerland men owe their allegiance to her. She singlehandedly defeated the Golden Tooth, assisted in the recapturing of Jaime Lannister, and is even now helping to secure fifteen-thousand Vale men." The redheaded woman bit her own tongue to keep from lashing out at the man. "Focus on the mission that Robb has so generously given you," He gripped her hand tightly, "Win the North. I shall make sure we win the south."

There was yet another reminder of that dratted mission. To remain at White Harbor as a figurehead while recently-named regent Maege Mormont hunted down both the Ironborn and lost Stark princes. Meanwhile Robb, her son and King, would be isolated in the Riverlands with a beautiful witch leading him to doom. Wrenching herself free of Brynden's grasp Catelyn strode back into the custody of her 'guards', or more fittingly, jailors. They both seemed eager to be able to flee back home away from the threat posed by Tywin Lannister. Ignoring their excited chatter she contemplated that very sticky situation which they would be leaving behind. Nearly all men, even Robb and Brynden, were fools who thought with their cocks.

They cared not for what guidance a woman could contribute unless related to such affairs as birthing. She would have been more than willing to ignore such dismissive treatment if the fate of her children's lives were not at stake. Knowing that the retinue of departing Northerners would be leaving in less than an hour Catelyn decided that only she had only a little time to make a difference. So for a long while the woman plotted silently while watching Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne from across the courtyard. The young Lady was clearly one of those great, Westerosi beauties that so many hundreds of wars had been started over. Willowishly tall, with breasts rounded like melons, a slim waist, and broad hips meant solely for childbearing. Emerald eyes, golden hair, as well as striking facial features blended together to create what must have been an undeniably pleasant sight for most male onlookers.

Catelyn found herself trying to pinpoint what could be done to destroy this picture of perfection. A way to tarnish Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne so that Robb would never even consider betraying his oath to Walder Frey. Time was ticking away at a merry pace when inspiration struck. Standing with his cloister of sycophantic, Riverland lordlings was Edmure. Handsome Edmure who was practically slobbering in the direction of that very same beauty Catelyn hoped to ruin. Not only was Edmure malleable enough that he could be set on the proper path by a few choice words, but he would soon be Lord of Riverrun. A title with enough power that it could turn even the most intelligent of women into blushing maidens.

"I must bid farewell to my brother," Lady Stark informed her guards frostily, "Then we can leave for White Harbor."

OOOO

Lilith watched unemotionally as Anise was guided into one of eight armored carriages. The formerly defiant girl now seemed cowed by the prospect of what awaited her in White Harbor. Either a marriage to Lord Manderly's youngest son, unlikely, or a marriage to his five-and-sixty year old brother. Accompanying her was a highly sympathetic Jeyne Westerling who seemed destined for a much more tolerable match to Ser Roland Waynwood. Of equal importance to the two women were the many crates of gold being loaded into the other vehicles. Most of the spoils collected from House Lefford would be delivered to White Harbor for safekeeping. A sizeable fraction, however, was headed for the east to serve as Lady Jeyne's unprecedentedly large dowry.

Pleased at the idea of more chess pieces being set into place she exchanged a final farewell to Gawen Westerling. The recently released Lord seemed highly pleased with the matches which had been arranged for three of his four children. Not only were Houses Lefford and Waynwood now secure allies of House Westerling, but the marriage between Eleyana and Tytos Brax would yield further influence. Nonetheless a heavily conflicted expression would pass across Gawen's face whenever he spoke to Lilith. No doubt a result of the knowledge that his own father helped to slaughter the Tarbecks and Reynes.

Not wanting to mar the last interaction he would have with his eldest daughter before her wedding Lilith decided to leave them in favor of Riverrun. There were plenty of tasks which still needed doing before she left for Seagard that next morning. Ser Crook, who always stood posted nearby since returning, clanked after her in response. Momentarily she returned to the matter of a proper reward for his having recaptured Jaime Lannister. Only a lordship could properly suffice for such a service, yet the question was where that title would come from.

Pushing it back in her mind for later the witch noted, like many others, how Catelyn Stark was berating Edmure Tully in heated whispers. Despite wanting to learn of what Lady Stark was trying to accomplish in her last hour at Riverrun, Lilith continued into the aforementioned castle. Stopping upon reaching an area out of earshot she turned to face Ser Crook. "I wish to visit the dungeons," Her voice was pleading, "I need to see Jaime Lannister." Despite a niggling in the back of the girl's brain which warned her not to she begged until the man finally acquiesced. With a very reluctant step he led her in an unfamiliar direction down towards the bowels of Riverrun where Tywin Lannister's golden son was imprisoned.

They passed many pitiful, Westerland Lords and soldiers though Lilith kept her green eyes pointed firmly forwards. She needed to steel herself for the glorious sight that waited just beyond the filthy hall of cells. It was one thing to see the Lion of Lannister wallowing in mud through a Projection, another entirely to be there in person. Capable of adding to his misery rather than just observing it. With shaking fingers the girl encountered what was a highly secure system of imprisonment. Multiple guards stepped hesitantly aside after recognizing her as the King's witch, many locks were turned, and several lanterns were lit to illuminate the space that Jaime Lannister called home.

Stinking of shit intermixed with the coppery taint of blood he sat in his cell. Chains were attached to every limb of the Kingslayer's body. Formerly golden hair hung lank to both of the man's slumped shoulders. "I wondered when we would finally meet," Came a sneery, arrogant voice, "My captors tell me little of what occurs beyond these dungeons, but I have heard of you. The witch of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne, who has managed to save Robb Stark from ruin in little more than two months." Though the man's head was pointed down to the foul floor she could see the bitter smile which twisted those filth-covered lips. "My only question is whether those tits are quite so spectacular as my jailors have claimed." In that moment a pair of blazing, green eyes glanced upwards with venomous hatred. Thrice as potent as any look Anise Spicer ever could have managed.

"You are speaking to the Lady of Tarbeck-Reyne," Ser Crook spat out furiously, "Still your tongue before I cut it out." Lilith placed a gentle hand upon her knight's armored forearm. Such devoted loyalty was appreciated, yet in that moment it was proving to be a detriment. Jaime Lannister would win this confrontation so long as he could lash out and elicit a reaction from Crook.

"My honor will not suffer from a few hurtful words, Ser Crook," She assured the fatherly man earnestly. "Wait outside for a moment while I speak to Lannister." He ceased glaring at the fallen lion to stare disbelievingly at his Lady. With a subtle tip of her head Lilith affirmed that his absence was necessary. Soon enough the metal door was clanging shut once more leaving her trapped alone with Jaime Lannister. "You think I am Lady Stark?" Her melodic voice rung tauntingly across the cavernous space sending all manner of rodents scurrying. Both of her fashionable shoes clicked noisily over the grimy cobbles, "That a few vulgar taunts shall break me until I am nothing more than a limpid husk of flesh? Capable only of releasing you from Riverrun?"

"No," He responded, "You are the whelp of traitorous scum. Secretly raised amongst filthy peasants and schooled in the darkest of sorcery. I need not even bother trying to break something that is already so greatly damaged."

She crossed both arms tightly while tipping her head slightly to the side. A vindictive smile crossed her face as her river of golden hair cascaded to the side. "If we had been having this conversation two decades ago then I might have shivered with humiliation at being mocked by a Lannister. Yet we live in 299 A.C. and House Lannister is no longer what it used to be." Clucking her tongue in a haughty manner Lilith continued, "I may be descended from traitors and might have been raised amongst the smallfolk, but that does not compare to what you are. A kingslaying, oathbreaking, sister-fucking, idiot who could not even defeat the Young Wolf in combat."

"I see that you are even less than I previously assumed," Jaime Lannister's charming voice broke the pause which followed her retort. "An insipid girl who has embarked upon a game which is much more dangerous than she can comprehend. Learn from Ellyn Reyne's mistakes, and move into the whoring business." He leered, "Even with this little light I can see that your tits _are_ quite spectacular."

More than able to weather the dismissal Lilith placed her hands against the rusty bars of his cell. "My great grandmother never lost this game," The girl corrected in a dangerous tone, "You will see that soon enough when everything you hold dear is destroyed." Then without another word she swept from that disgusting dungeon with a determined spring to her step.

OOOO

Pounding knocks disrupted any calm which existed within Lilith's very disorganized chambers. Straightening her raggedy shift, while hoping King Robb could find it in his heart to bestow a clothing allowance, she wrenched the door open. "Milady," Crook looked flustered, heavy smallfolk accent tingeing his every word. "This guard claims that there is a man in the courtyard demanding to speak with you…" He trailed off into listlessness when the girl stepped out of her chaotic chambers.

"Stay posted, Ser Crook," Her voice was gentle as a bell, "I will have this sorted out soon enough." Any of the Knight's protests were silenced by her sudden departure. Honestly Lilith just wanted a moment to escape from packing for the impending trip to Seagard. Blonde braid swinging violently, her slippered feet silent alongside the guard's clattering steps, she relished what little air could be found in Riverrun. So many people were crammed into the ancient castle that it was quite difficult to breathe. Ignoring that crushing discomfort Lilith waited for her accompanying guard to open the side doors which led to Riverrun's courtyard. While most of the Lords were allocated rooms within House Tully's seats, senior soldiers and knights were kept in tents within the bustling space. Everyone else who did not fit was exiled out to find some sort of rest in the Riverland marshes.

With a few barked directions the toothy, greenboy bade the noblewoman to follow him in weaving patterns between canopied tents. Right when she began to wonder if they would ever come to a stop her green gaze fell on a peculiar sight. The portcullis to Riverrun was half open. Standing under the watch of four Tully soldiers was a man draped entirely in sopping clothes. No doubt this man had travelled a ways through the rainy Riverlands. High overhead the moon's rays broke free of a cloud cloister. Unable to even comprehend what stood before her Lilith collapsed to both knees in the mud. Choking sobs racked tumultuously throughout Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's body. Surely the lusty soldiers enjoyed seeing her in such a compromising position, yet she could not will herself to stand back up.

"G-g-gran-," She spluttered brokenly, unable to formulate any words. With uncertain movements the guards allowed him to move forwards until finally he stood at an arm's length. Soon enough they were both locked in a tight embrace. Mighty sobs heaving out of both their throats.

"My little Lily," Ulric Miller cooed gently into his granddaughter's ear, "I have found my little girl at last."

Just for that moment Lilith allowed her carefully constructed demeanor to slip. In those few, precious seconds she was Lilith Miller of Sarsfield once again. The beautiful daughter of a blacksmith, and granddaughter of a horsebreeder.

OOOO

"They came when the sky was blackest," Ulric's face, which had already been wrinkled before, was now crisscrossed with lines. "Walder and I had heard of strange happenings in Lannisport from other traders. Genna Lannister murdered, a witch having been buried alive by Lannister men. Yet we did not truly understand what that meant until the Sarsfield soldiers came knocking." Lilith shivered at the cold realization that she was going to hear how her father was murdered. While the girl had seen most of those horrors in a green dream most of it was repressed lest a mental breakdown be triggered. "Your father managed to kill a good number of the party. I barely escaped with my life," Here he pointed to a red wound which slashed angrily across the side of his neck.

"When I was healthy enough again for travel the news of your exploits began to reach my ears. Lady Lilith of Houses Tarbeck-Reyne, they whispered, Lady of Castamere. Conqueress of Golden Tooth. King Robb Stark's sorceress." His voice gained a disappointed tone towards the end yet Lilith could hardly make herself care. In the time she had been away from that cottage in Sarsfield many new lessons were learned. War was war, lords were lords, and they would continually tromp over people like her without a second thought. Why, the girl wondered bitterly, should Ulric have expected anything else from her? Magic was a weapon, her bloodright was a weapon, so what was wrong with exploiting them in an advantageous manner? Nobles all across Westeros cared not a lick for the Seven God's strict rules, and she would never allow herself to become a peasant again. Ulric's aversion to sorcery be damned!

"I have done what was necessary," She began, already noticing how her grandfather's eyes started to blaze. "The Lannisters are not fit to rule. Robb Stark's campaign has been saved, momentarily, from doom. We may be able to retake Castamere one day," Her voice was pleading at this point. "I want to be able to call a place home without worrying that Tywin Lannister shall snatch it all away."

Ulric opened his mouth to respond when a loud knocking came from her door for the second time that evening. Rolling both, emerald eyes, Lilith stood to her feet slowly. "Yes, Crook?" Her singsongy voice somehow managed to exit the cavernous chambers. He moved inside slowly escorted by an unexpected guest. "Lord Tully," She bent into a curtsey while considering just how wretched her appearance was. Windblown hair, semi-appropriate nightshift drenched in Riverland rain and mud. He exchanged the customary courtesies while her stiff fingers reached for anything to cover up with. The Lady was all too aware that her marriage prospects could either increase or become very unpleasant with time. Any potential suitor needed to be kept hooked on the line until marriage was a necessary option.

Edmure Tully, after all, was very viable indeed. Imminent Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, uncle to a King, handsome. The list of benefits could go on forever, yet Lilith instead focused on drawing him fully beneath her thrall. "My Lady," He turned those Tully-blue eyes her way again once she was garbed in a much longer gown, "I apologize for intruding. It did not occur to me that you would have company at this late hour…" Internally she wished to roll her eyes at that stupid remark. Why on the Mother's tits would he see fit to visit her chambers at such a late hour in the evening, then?

Perhaps her tongue remained silent on the matter, but Ulric's own proved much more liberal. "Do you often see fit to visit unmarried maidens in the dead of night, Lord Tully?" His sharp remark reminded Lilith of those rare occasions in her childhood when the intelligent man saw fit to criticize her own, bad behavior. The man floundered in a highly unflattering display. Lilith swiftly decided to intervene once the Tully heir started to resemble the trout emblazoned on his armor.

"Lord Edmure must have had something important to speak with me about," She chastised Ulric with her tone, "To visit at this time of night." Turning back to appraise the handsome, Tully man her lips spread into a gracious, demure smile. "Please forgive my grandfather's intrusion. We both have suffered a great deal at the Lannister's paws in recent days."

While he seemed surprised, and horrified, that this condescending old man was her grandfather Lord Tully stood straighter. "I received permission from his grace to escort your ladyship to Seagard tomorrow morning," His face was impassive, yet those childish eyes shined with an eager light. Praise was most certainly a rare thing for someone like Edmure Tully. Both Hoster and Catelyn Tully were manipulative, intelligent, ruthless politicians who doubtlessly disapproved of the man's simple outlook on life.

"I already find myself impatient to further make your acquaintance tomorrow," Lilith flattered easily, "We must ride together on the journey to Seagard."

The Tully heir smiled brightly at having heard those words he had hoped to be given. Stepping forwards a few steps the handsome man bent to kiss her palm while leaning into a very dignified bow. "Might the Maiden, Mother, and Crone gift you with blessed dreams this evening," His voice was rehearsed, though not in an entirely unpleasant sort of way. Lilith imagined that the man must have practiced before a mirror all day before deciding to pay her a visit. Trying not to giggle at his insipid mannerisms she watched as he nodded stonily in Ulric's direction prior to fleeing the chambers. Feeling greatly exhausted the girl collapsed on her bed.

"You are doing well for yourself. Luxurious accommodations, wealthy suitors, personal knights," Her grandfather remarked somewhat unkindly. He disapproved of the tactics and decisions which had given Lilith such opulent privileges. She hardly cared, however.

"I did not have a family," The girl reminded him, green eyes glinting sharply in his direction. "Until you found me again," Outside the moon was flickering against clouds casting strange patterns of light to flash across her pretty features. Ulric released a great sigh as though no longer capable of harboring any disapproval within his old bones. Moving slowly he made his way towards where she sat before sinking down next to her. Neither of them spoke for a little while, simply relishing that feeling of being reunited with a beloved relative once more. None of the mistakes she made mattered, and she could almost imagine that her father would come bursting home from the forge. Covered in soot with that dashing smile spread across his handsome face.

Almost as if he sensed the direction her thoughts had gone Ulric grasped his pseudo-granddaughter's hand in his own. Raising the knuckles upwards he left a gentle, lasting kiss against the silky skin. The same sort which she could remember having been affectionately given as a little child after nasty falls. "I met my mother," She declared suddenly causing him to start. "After they buried me alive in Lannisport she found me lost within the afterlife. When I thought that there was nothing left to fight for she commanded me to return to life. To rise higher than any have ever gone before."

"What was her name?" The former Maester sounded so beseeching that Lilith felt horrible for not being able to give a full answer. No doubt the man spent just as much of his life trying to find out who the mother of Walderan Tarbeck's child was as here. A whore? A merchant's daughter? Or perhaps even the child of a landed Knight? All of those presumable possibilities were very far from the truth, however.

"She never gave it," Her voice cracked mournfully, "But I did manage to deduce that she was a daughter of House Mallister." Incredulous awe flashed across Ulric's face at this admittedly stunning revelation. "I intend to go to Seagard, learn what my mother's name was, and prove my identity to Lord Mallister."

OOOO

Gone were the days that Lilith could ever travel throughout Westeros by herself. Another thing stolen by the Lannisters, she mentally added to her very long list of grievances caused by the ruthless family. Though honestly there was some thrill to being escorted by such a large group of soldiers. Only the most important people on the continent were entitled to such a consideration. It made her feel dangerous, as if a reminder that Tywin Lannister should fear what was coming for him. Ulric seemed to feel differently about the host entirely. "You think this is a game," He chastised her at one point in a low tone, "But it is not. Tywin Lannister is a clever, dangerous man, and you better dare not underestimate his ruthlessness."

Any joy which was previously bubbling in her stomach at being free from the crowded quarters of Riverrun vanished with those sobering words. Even the thrill of flirting with Lord Edmure lost any former appeal, inappropriate brushes of her hand against his own causing sparks to burn away at her glum spirit. Only the prospect of Seagard could truly cause a smile to return to the girl's pretty face. She wondered whether the Riverlands largest center of trade would truly tower above the Sunset Sea like so many claimed. Most importantly, the trip to this castle would yield something more precious than all of the world's jewels. Lilith was going to visit with her mother. The process would work much like it had before, but this time she was more than capable of completing the ritual on her own.

So much anxiety was pounding within the noblewoman's head that she almost suffered a heart attack at finally witnessing Seagard in all its splendorous glory. The soldiers up ahead called out loudly in excitement at reaching their destination while she had practically threw herself off the mare in response. Charging mightily up the hill Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne found herself staring outwards in shocked awe. There was the massive town which pulsated almost violently with life. While nowhere near capable of rivalling the bay of Lannisport there were numerous ships from all across the world bobbing within the morning breeze. Most exciting was the castle itself, a massive fortress composed of many massive buttresses. Her imagination began to soar upwards into the misty sky where Seagard was hidden by numerous clouds.

Recalling that she was not a horse trader any longer Lilith straightened her back to stand tall like a proper Lady. Waiting until Ulric and Lord Tully arrived at the spot where she stood the witch finally found herself able to move forwards again. Together they rode at a gentle pace through the town beneath Seagard, observing quietly as all of the smallfolk whispered to one another at catching a glimpse of Robb Stark's witch. Knowing that the whispers would grow even worse after her maternity was proven Lilith focused her eyes straight ahead. Only glancing around upon arriving inside the courtyard of House Mallister's seat. "Welcome to Seagard," A handsome, older man with chiseled features greeted them stoically. "I am Jason Mallister, Lord of Seagard."

Lilith's knees began to wobble unsteadily at finally meeting one of her potential relatives. She noted swiftly how similar he looked to the spirit of her mother. Strong jawline, brown hair, and blue-gray eyes. "I must offer my deepest condolences for your father's recent health, Lord Edmure," He nodded sternly, though there was a softer edge to this movement, "One of the greatest men Westeros has ever known." Lilith listened as the handsome man beside her spluttered out some entirely undiplomatic thing. Instead of silently casting scorn in his direction, however, she simply found herself looking upwards to Seagard. Imagining her beautiful mother running about the halls, or perhaps even fleeing into the night with a dashing Walder Miller. Having grown so caught up in this fantasy she almost did not notice when Lord Mallister turned to address her. "I have head much of you," He remarked with a very careful tongue, "The last, living Lady of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne. Why would King Robb send his most beneficial advisor so far from the protection of Riverrun?"

"I am capable of protecting myself, Lord Mallister," Lilith retorted easily, "And there was business which needed to be discussed." They assessed one another for a little moment after that. She surmised that he was the sort of man who lived life with a very simple set of objectives. Duty to House Mallister, obligation to his smallfolk, as well as an avid devotion to the Seven. The last one especially must have caused some distaste over allowing a known sorceress into Seagard. His gaze pivoted curiously to Ulric who stood beside her in an admittedly protective manner. Whatever details he gleaned from his own, brief perusal Lilith was certain she would never know.

"Maester Ulric Rowan," The aged man revealed his surname, giving her somewhat of a shock. "I raised Lady Lilith and her father as my own. Sheltered them from Tywin Lannister to the best of my ability." That simple response allowed the girl very little time to contemplate information which her companions seemed totally willing to disregard. Not even once since learning that Ulric was actually a Maester had Lilith considered which House he might have hailed from. Having a Rowan of Goldengrove could perhaps prove quite useful in the future. After all, the Reach was almost entirely populated with some of Westeros's greatest players, and she did not have quite enough insight into the region's innerworkings.

"There will be a feast this evening," Lord Mallister continued, "Where we can speak further. Until that time I shall have you all escorted to your chambers." At his words several servants stepped forth to collect what little belongings they all bothered to bring from Riverrun. Lilith, and Crook who loomed not far behind, found herself following a young serving maiden into the towering heights of Seagard. The beautiful fortress consisted of many different main buildings all broken apart, but connected by extensive bridges. Navigation of Seagard would have been quite impossible without the serving girl's directions, yet Lilith also found her useful for other reasons as well.

"Does Lord Mallister have any sisters, aunts, or daughters?" Lilith asked in a chipper tone, as though the information were not pertinent whatsoever. Stopping suddenly so that their escort would be obliged to do the same.

The maid's dimpled chin stuck out while a pink flush spread across her spotty skin. "Well, milady, he did, but no one speaks of such things at Seagard any longer," At Lilith's expectant gaze she continued, "Out of respect." She attempted to usher them forth once again though the witch refused to move from where she stood. Ser Crook mimicked her with his usual amount of uncertainty, shuffling nervously in place. Realizing what was going on the maid sighed reluctantly, "Lord Mallister had a daughter named Laena Mallister with his first wife, many years ago. The loveliest Lady of the Riverlands, everyone called her. She disappeared a moon after her eighteenth birthday without a single trace. No one ever saw Lady Laena again after that."

While the maid seemed to quaver and shake fraily at such a morbid story Lilith found her heart pounding mightily. Laena Mallister, that was her name. The girl began marching once again, hardly able to wait until that moment when she could see her mother once more. "

OOOO

Sorry if this chapter was boring. Mostly just filler plot points I needed to build up. Hopefully nobody is disappointed by the big reveal. And there will be a lot more Lilith/Jaime scenes soon enough. Please review, and keep reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: The Plan to Launch One-Thousand Ships.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R.R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

With Ser Crook posted firmly outside the door Lilith began to prepare her modestly sized chambers for what would prove a very trying ritual. The bomb used to attack Casterly Compound was a difficult thing to accomplish, but in a different way. Speaking with the dead required absolute focus, a steely resolution to sneak beyond the barriers of life without getting caught in between. For a very long time she leant against her windowsill while the sea breeze was blown into her pretty face. Golden locks whipping wildly, she waited until the afternoon sun sunk into its peak position over the Sunset Sea. Fingers trembling the girl lit every candle with a flick of her wrist, "Dracarys." Very adept by this point with memorizing the chants necessary to power spells Lilith began to sweep towards a spot on the floor. Not even needing to balance any massive grimoires in both arms.

Twisting gently down onto her bottom she stretched outwards with natural grace. The chants began to turn into whispers as a familiar cloud started to pulsate between both of those green eyes. Before finally falling into darkness her fingertips stretched upwards to where a bowl of repulsive liquid sat waiting. Everything grew incredibly black for several moments directly after that viscous substance flooded from head to belly. Her body twisted into awareness atop a coarse, rocky surface. Wind blew furiously across the Mallister's beach with roaring hisses cutting against Lilith's skin. Standing carefully her bare feet moved away from the pile of jagged stones upon which she had landed. "I knew you would look every bit like your father," A soft voice whispered entrancingly from behind, "Golden like a Westerland mine. Tall as a warrior should I am quite apologetic to see that you were forced to suffer with the Mallister figure."

Every inch of the witch's body was frozen tightly on the spot. Breaths would not pass, limbs refused to move, nor could her brain seem to comprehend that Laena Mallister stood behind her. They already met once before, but that was nothing like having a lucid conversation. Ghostly cold fingers suddenly caressed against the skin of her neck. "Turn around," Suddenly that tenor was as strong as Jason Mallister's, "You are the blood of my blood. Product of my womb. I will not have my own child refuse to look at me." Shaking violently the girl turned slowly to face her mother. "I have never seen a more beautiful face," Laena stuttered with brimming, blue-grey eyes. Waves of brown hair twirling tempestuously beneath the wind. Icy fingertips pressed gently across the smooth skin of Lilith's face.

"How did you meet my father?" Lilith blurted before she could even help herself. So many questions were brimming within her head, so many of them could be answered by this strange woman.

A serene smile spread across Laena's sharp, chiseled features. They sunk slowly to the ground while remaining linked tightly together. "I was a rebellious girl. Your grandfather forbade me from attending to any wounded soldiers who passed through Seagard, so I did anyways," Any wistfulness in her voice was bittersweet. "Walder was so different from any of those Lords that my father wished me to wed, but it was too late before I found out the truth. We were four months wedded when he admitted to actually being Walderan Tarbeck." Fingers snaked upwards to brush fondly through Lilith's golden mane. "The babe growing inside my belly would be the heir of two Houses crushed by Tywin Lannister. That cold fear of discovery caused any beauty of living a simple, common lifestyle to wither."

Lilith opened her mouth to ask another question, but her mother beat her to it. "I wanted for him to bring us all back to Seagard. So that my father and brother could protect us from harm, yet he argued that complete anonymity was safest." Her voice cracked, "My plan was to wait until you were safely delivered then ride back home. Though things did not work that way." Both of them knew or could guess at what got in the way of that fantasy. "In those last moments my only regret was that I would never get to see your emerald eyes. Or waves of golden hair. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that you would take my spirit." Voice cracking Laena continued, "No one with Mallister blood running through their veins would cower in hiding. We are fighters to the very end, and it is in our blood to persevere despite the odds."

They were silent for a little while until Lilith spoke up. "I feel like an idiot. All of the time," She admitted sorrowfully, "Father was killed by the Lannisters because of me." What followed was a long recollection of her journey from Sarsfield, to Lannisport, to Riverrun, and Seagard. Laena seemed most intrigued by the revelation that her daughter was such a powerful sorceress.

"I loved Walder dearly," The Mallister woman sighed, "But he was a fool to keep you hidden. Before your birth I warned him that secrecy was no everlasting shield, yet he refused to listen. Even this Maggy the Frog warned him and that Maester Ulric. She told them years ago that you would be born with an inescapable, uncontainable destiny." Tears were now certainly streaming across Lilith's skin, leaving red marks wherever they touched. "I forbid you from ever blaming yourself again. Walder was warned numerous times over the course of his life. Focus instead on learning from his mistakes, and never grow complacent while a Lannister is around."

"How do I defeat them though? One of the greatest Houses that Westeros has ever seen?" Lilith's tone was desperate. Hopeful that the woman holding her body would have at least some sort of advice. "The Westerlands must be crushed before any other Lords will support me. That is something which is far easier to speak of than actually accomplish. The Starks are absolute fools when it comes to political games, as are the Tullys. None of the Spicers can be trusted fully, not even Maggy. The Tyrells, Arryns, and probably even the Martells will be my foes soon enough as well."

"Your grandfather might be of more use than you can comprehend," Laena clarified quickly, "The Mallister one. Not that pious maester." An unreal breeze whipped the woman's brown locks about wildly. "He has quite a head for politics on both of his shoulders. Though his title also carries quite a bit of heft. When you prove your identity as my daughter he will throw his weight behind you. The strongest families in Westeros will no longer just see a presumed Tarbeck bastard, but a legitimate granddaughter of Jason Mallister who has some significant claims." The impact of Laena's words must have been quite visible, for it prompted a number of thoughts to race through her head. Lilith's ghostly mother vocalized them all easily, "The Tyrells would see you as a sensible method of conquering the Westerlands. Or you could wed a Volantene Triarch, a Sealord of Braavos, maybe even this Stark heir you sound so fond of." She leant closer inwards, "I am telling you to make good use of those who are loyal to your interests. Your grandfather will be one soon enough, Ellyn Reyne is a far keener mind than myself with whom you can always consult."

"How do I prove myself to… Lord Mallister?" Lilith asked while the pair stood to both of their feet. They were well aware the time was quickly approaching when she would need to return to the living realm again.

"I wrote a letter to your grandfather before I wedded your father. However, I could neither bring myself to burn the thing or leave it where he would ever find it. So instead I tucked it behind a loose stone in the wall beneath my window. Inside of my old chambers." As if about to relay an afterthought she added, "I wrapped a necklace around the scroll. One that he gave me. Show it to him as well." They both stared at one another as a noisy buzz started to descend upon the ghostly beach. "Remember how much I love you, Lilith. And one last thing." Here those grey-blue eyes turned into knives, "Never waste your energy on a slimy, Tully trout. You are worthy of far better."

A final kiss was pressed to the girl's cheek prior to her forceful return back into Seagard.

OOOO

Jason Mallister wondered if all witches were so audacious to skip a feast being held in their honor. Yes, Edmure Tully, the bonehead who would one day serve as his liege Lord was certainly important. However, no one deluded themselves into thinking he was more important than Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne. The beautiful, intelligent, gifted young woman was a force to be reckoned with. Not only were her much whispered-about powers worth consideration, but so were her allies. House Spicer was becoming a major entity simply by holding onto her coattails, as was House Westerling. He himself wondered what business the witch could have with Seagard. Already the impact of her influence over Robb Stark's campaign could be seen throughout Westeros.

In the North Wyman Manderly was already making massive gains in preparation of Lady Stark and Maege Mormont's imminent arrivals. Having liberated the lands around Moat Cailin, and laying the beginnings of a contentious siege. The Westerlands were held under divisive leadership with a sizeable fraction of Robb Stark's army maintaining a grip over Golden Tooth. In conjunction with most of Lady Lilith's reluctant vassals that meant that Tywin Lannister's loyalist forces would have to form a very tight union in order to regain total control. Then there was the formerly unified Vale. Cracking apart thanks to heavy interference from Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne, the Spicers, as well as the Westerlings. She was beginning to redefine the entire playing field in a radical, never-before-seen way. Political powerhouses were preparing to fight any changes off tooth and nail while Stark loyalists such as himself hoped for greater influence.

All machinations came to an end when the beautiful blonde marched into his dining hall. Despite that strange stain plastered across her clothing he imagined that any keep across Westeros would be proud to call her its Lady. Jason wondered momentarily if he were wily enough to wed the seemingly-intelligent girl into a marriage with Patrek? That all halted when she did not turn to take a seat at his side. Instead Robb Stark's witch marched right up to stand defiantly before him. Without a single pause she tossed something upon his still-empty plate. Then turning to address the bewildered assembly of garrison guards her triumphant voice boomed outwards, "My mother's identity has long been a mystery. Something my father, Walderan Tarbeck, never wished for me to know."

The Lord of Seagard opened the yellowed scroll with shaking fingers. A jewel encrusted necklace shaped like an eagle dangling from his white fist. Laena's necklace. How could a bastard from House Tarbeck have found such a precious, forgotten, lost thing? Both of those grey-blue eyes widened with deep disbelief at seeing his daughter's curled handwriting again. For the first time in years.

' _Father-_

 _I have little desire to wed a Frey, or Whent, or Edmure Tully. My heart aches instead for a golden haired Westerlander. The truth is that we secretly wedded within the sept, where you wedded my own mother, early this morning. Love has led me astray, and my mistake is hardly one that can be remedied. The symbol of House Mallister does not deserve to sit upon my unworthy neck. The neck of a woman who has spurned duty in favor of dishonor. Tell Westeros that I drowned in a marsh, or was swept away into the Sunset Sea. Anything to spare your reputation from my shameful actions. Do not cry for my absence, but instead keep in mind that I have found happiness. From within the arms of my Walder._

 _-Laena Mallister._

Tears threatened to burst from Jason Mallister's eyes. He was a Lord however, so any emotion was just barely concealed by a practiced mask of impassiveness. The man looked up those green eyes which were now staring expectantly down upon him. Deep in his heart Jason knew the horrible truth. Laena, his precious eaglet, had cast aside her noble blood for a Tarbeck posing as a commoner. No doubt she suffered some terrible consequence in result. Standing before him now was a Lady of Castamere and Tarbeck Hall. Nowhere close to being a bastard, but _his_ lawful granddaughter. Who was waiting rather patiently for him to affirm what exactly she was alluding to for all of his knights to hear. Standing with pride despite the feelings which threatened to strike him down Jason Mallister announced something he never imagined would come from his mouth.

"Lady Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne has proven herself the lawful offspring of Laena Mallister," He paused for a very sharp moment, "She is my granddaughter."

OOOO

Eagles soared above Seagard, screeching with wild abandon within the perpetual mist. Lilith stood with both hands plastered against the railings of the battlements. She imagined the bells booming, tranquility disrupted, Ironborn raiding the coasts of her ancestors. Even after having been blessed with so much time to get used to the idea of Mallister blood running through her veins Lilith was still unfamiliar with the notion. "Do you understand what this means for your campaign?" Ulric asked as though he were speaking to a simpleton. "No longer are you a Hill. Now you are a true noblewoman! With-."

"Legitimate claims to Seagard, as well as whatever is left of Tarbeck Hall and Castamere. Along with a wealthy grandfather who is more than willing to assist me in securing a dowry." The girl spun around to face her Maester/grandfather who had spent nearly half-an-hour repeating the same conclusion aloud. "Starting to support my campaign, grandfather? Is it no longer quite such a lost cause?" Her tone grew serious, "I hardly know Lord Jason. It feels strange to call him family, nor do I even wish to marry which makes his offer of a dowry somewhat unnecessary."

A derisive snort came from Ulric's nose as he moved to lean against the wall next to her. "No one wishes to marry, Lilith," His tone was profound, "Not until Tywin Lannister is mounting siege weaponry outside of their keep. Your grandmother no doubt deeply regretted having not betrothed Cerelle. She perhaps even regretted having wedded Rohanne to a Tarbeck cousin. This game you have embarked upon does not take into account our desires whatsoever." Both of them stared out into the misty sky, "It is a matter of who can become the strongest player before they find themself trapped inside of a castle. While lions prowl outside." He gripped her hand gently into his own, "Give Lord Mallister a chance. From what I hear he loved Laena deeply. No doubt the man is very happy to have some sort of connection with her again."

They stood in companionable silence simply enjoying being together again after having thought one another dead for so long. A familiar voice was nearing, yet neither of them really needed to turn for a look. "Well, at least this gives you a better opportunity to trap Edmure Tully on your fishing line," Ulric sniped somewhat sneeringly.

"I changed my mind about that," Lilith smiled down at the short man, "Recently I have realized that I am worth more than some slimy trout."

"What are you worth then?" Ulric kept their banter going despite the Tully heir's imminent arrival. A taunting smile and kiss on his cheek were the only things that he was given in response.

"Lady Lilith," Lord Edmure approached them both, "Maester Ulric." He seemed more than eager for another round of flirting. "Lord Mallister has requested your presence in his solar. I offered to escort you myself." The witch almost felt bad for what was about to happen seeing how cheerily eager he was.

"I know the way already, but my grandfather wished to take a trip to the beach," She smiled winningly, "Thank you for always being so helpful, Lord Edmure." No gentle grazes against his armored person occurred this time as she swept along. Walking through the halls of Seagard presented another matter to contend with. Servants curtseyed upon passing her by. Lilith felt it was strange to be addressed in such a way, allowing herself to wonder what it would be like to walk the halls of Castamere, or Tarbeck Hall. Every curtly pronounced

'milady was a reassertion of the fact that she belonged at Seagard. That it could possibly even serve as a surrogate home of sorts. Finally arriving inside of Lord Mallister's solar Lilith knocked somewhat nervously. Aside from their awkward conversation the night before, with a surprising amount of focus on dowries, she did not have any idea what to expect.

"Enter," Came the surprisingly fearsome voice she should have anticipated. Jason Mallister was the Lord of Seagard after all, so an imposing atmosphere seemed necessary for the position. Stepping hesitantly inside she noted that the luxurious room was more of a study than sitting area. Her maternal grandfather was sitting at his massive, oak desk with an expectant look upon his face. Sweeping across the spacious room Lilith took a graceful seat in the chair across from him. "Do you know how to use that sword?" The older man asked curiously, motioning towards where the Father's Gift was strapped to her hip.

"My father made certain I could defend myself," She affirmed, "Nobody has beaten me in a fair fight yet."

He smiled a sorrowful expression, "Patrek, your uncle, never managed to become much of a swordsman. He always prefered his mace." Some sort of speculative gleam entered the man's gaze, "Laena would have made a fantastic swordswoman, I wager. That Mallister spirit was simply too strong, far too irrepressible for defeat." Any emotion left his gaze when he caught sight of her curious, green gaze. "Enough about ghosts," He declared sharply, "We have to focus on ourselves, or we will share the same fate." Now a semi-taunting expression flashed across his bearded face. "Did Lord Edmure ever escort you to my solar?"

"I directed him to another task," Lilith answered easily enough, without mentioning slimy trouts. From what knowledge she had gained the Mallisters were extremely loyal to the Tullys.

"Good," The Lord smiled approvingly, "I was attempting to measure your common sense. Tullys are excellent matches for plain Freys, but your prospects are far greater." He leant into the massive, oak chair which supported his heavy frame. "We are bound," His voice contained quite a bit of seriousness, "Before if Robb Stark lost the war I would have been burdened with unfair taxes at most. Now that our blood connection has been revealed the consequences would mean eradication. Remember, Tullys are hardly the most advantageous marriage available to us."

"There are affairs which must be set into order at Seagard as well," Lilith tried to change the somewhat uncomfortable topic. "I convinced Robb Stark that the Lefford gold we captured should primarily be directed towards building a Northern fleet. Lord Manderly has agreed to assist with this plan." She crossed a leg, "That would prove a lost, strategic opportunity, however." He motioned for her to continue, clearly intrigued no matter how hard he attempted to conceal it. "Seagard is the perfect location to build part of this fleet. Not only would it prove of immeasurable use in staving off the Ironborn, but we could accomplish one of my more audacious plans." Standing to both feet she stepped easily over to where a map was spread across one of the solar's many tables. Her Lordly grandfather followed. "Banefort, Faircastle, Kayce, Feastfires, and perhaps even Crakehall. Almost all are poorly garrisoned, ripe for the picking," She flashed a charming expression in his direction, "Then the Ironborn will only be too happy to pick at the scraps while Maege Mormont and Wyman Manderly drive them south."

"You are asking a lot of me," His voice sounded too canderous for comfort, "We happen to be at war right now. Just to even come anywhere near accomplishing such a task as raiding the Westerland coast would require a year at _least_ of shipbuilding."

A wry smile twisted the pretty girl's pink lips as she gazed at the Lord of Seagard. "I suppose now is the time to tell you what Robb Stark has offered in exchange for such a great service," Her green eyes flickered with glee. This was where Lilith truly excelled. Cutting deals with Westeros's mightiest Lords happened to be her forte, not awkward reunions with estranged relatives. "You will be given a quarter of the Golden Tooth's gold to expedite this process, almost three million dragons." This statement caused his white brows to rise incredibly high. "Additionally, I have convinced his grace that such a task requires Seagard to maintain a much stronger garrison. You will be given more than two-hundred men. Half of whom journeyed here with me, and were secretly transporting the Lefford gold."

Silence fell for a very long period of time. "I have connections with some of the finest shipwrights in Essos," Lord Jason began to promise, "That gold will get you slightly more than sixty ships in half a year." He paused, "How many other plans do you have stewing towards fruition?"

"Tywin Lannister taught my bloodline a great deal of lessons," Lilith stared shrewdly at her grandfather, "And he never deigns to scheme where spies could be lurking." That was the absolute truth, of course. In all of those times that she had watched the Lord of Casterly Rock through Projections he kept both lips sealed shut. Despite her relative newness to the political scene Lilith was wise enough to have realized that certain things should never be spoken aloud. Winning cards often turned out to be those that were kept closest to one's heart.

"Perhaps you will keep quiet, but I have plenty of my own plans to share with you." At this point it was the girl's turn to follow her grandfather back to his desk. "You have a distant cousin, Lyra, granddaughter of my uncle Ser Denys who is currently a brother of the Night's Watch. Using the incredible amount of influence that you have proven tenfold to wield over Robb Stark I ask that she be wedded to Brynden Tully." Both of Lilith's green eyes popped open in shocked surprise. "In exchange he shall be installed as castellan of Harrenhal, which I hear you were given by Robb Stark. Now that the Whents are finally gone it is time we put that shithole to good use and repair it."

"But what use would that prove to be?" Lilith demanded of the man, hardly seeing the point in such an undertaking. "Restoring Harrenhal would cost Riverrun, Seagard, and whatever is left of Castamere an arm and leg each!"

"For too long I have watched while the Tullys ignore an increasingly volatile situation," Jason responded. "There is no desire in my heart to rule over the Riverlands, but I also refuse to watch the Freys take control either. Our House is already bound to the Tullys through marriage many times over, yet we both lack the strength necessary to form a meaningful alliance." Everything finally started to fit together in Lilith's sharp mind. "The sort that both obeys respect and ensures that there will be stability in this kingdom. Harrenhal presides over the most fertile lands in Westeros though it has been neglected for centuries. Imagine the quantity of resources and number of soldiers it could produce when put back into its former glory."

"You want to turn it back into an impregnable fortress," Lilith interjected, "The sort that no army could hope to lay an effective siege upon." She felt her pulse starting to pound at the sheer magnitude of her grandfather's vision. "No House would ever dare to rise against Seagard or Riverrun with a Mallister-Tully bloodline presiding over such a structure. Not even Walder Frey could prove to be so impetuous." Further realizations continued to pour outwards, "With the Westerland side conquered by myself we could re-establish Harrenhal as some form of a defensive barrier against the other southern kingdoms." Strange, her head started to pound, that the broken castle managed to fall into her palms so easily. That Lord Mallister's plan was coming together with such astonishing ease.

"This would be far too costly of a feat for the Riverlands to accomplish individually, which is where your support comes into play," He continued. "The Westerlands, Riverlands, and that sliver of the Vale you managed to sway beneath Robb Stark's banner will all be more than able to find success." Lilith always imagined prior to that moment that her cunning came from the thorough education Ulric provided to her. Now she was starting to imagine that perhaps a bit of it was simply in her blood. Mayhaps it was a Mallister trait to turn whatever they were given into a much grander opportunity.

"As well as the support of whomever you have been contemplating that I should wed myself to," The witch added tentatively. Though the subject was hardly one that she wished to broach it needed to be done. Jason Mallister was proving himself an incredibly perceptive man, far more artful than herself. Besides that, Lilith knew this was not a gift to avoid as she would no longer need to depend so heavily upon Rolph Spicer's support.

"The Tyrells have already formed a betrothal between Joffrey Rivers and Margaery Tyrell," He sneered at the change of events, "Leaving Willas Tyrell solidly out of the running. Though I never would have contemplated them at all. The Tyrells have no sense of loyalty whatsoever."

"Why not a Hightower?" Lilith wondered in earnest curiosity.

"You are worth far more than that," The man insisted in response, "Only one of the Great Houses would ever do. Perhaps the sickly boy-Lord Robyn Arryn, definitely not a Martell, but maybe Robb Stark would be of more interest to you." All of these names seemed to tick off down the list in her brain until he arrived at the King in the North's. Fighting a rising flush she simply glared at her Lordly grandfather who merely raised his brow in response. "You are a beautiful, powerful maiden and he is the dashing epitome of honorability. Do you really expect that I cannot deduce that you both have at least some form of romantic connection?"

Wanting to gag at discussing her highly inappropriate feelings for Robb Stark with her grandfather Lilith bit back. "He is betrothed to a Frey." They argued over the idea for a very long while. Much like Ellyn Reyne, Jason Mallister felt it best that she connive the young King into bedding and wedding her. Insisting that such a move would leave all three kingdoms fully bound after the Lannisters were finally deposed. She countered that it was hardly safe to spit at the feet of the Freys until Harrenhal was towering into the sky once more. Eventually these conversations were exhausted resulting in Lilith exiting his solar late in the evening. Images of marriage to Robb Stark plaguing her every thought as she scurried away towards isolation.

OOOO

 _The earth for miles was swampy wasteland. Bubbling with foulness, but also emitting the cold of Northern winter. She stood atop the half-ruined, half-restructured battlements while staring down into the causeway. Moat Cailin was certainly shaping up into one of the greatest strongholds of the North. Even Winterfell struggled to compete with the mystical fortress originally built by the First Men. Her leather-clad feet creaked as she spun to face the results of her hard labors. While the stronghold was still nowhere near its former glory none could deny that what had been accomplished happened to be extraordinary._

 _Ten of the original twenty towers now stood high against the very white, Northern sky. Diverse trade thrived inside of this compact space as every House within the Neck brought their respective goods to market. The influx of swampland fish, rare lumber, exotic skins and pelts, bog iron, peet, and sometimes even poisons, caused an economic boom to strike the region. Merchants now flocked to the recently developed metropolis, dropping taxes as they entered the North. Over the course of the last decade population began to boom hinting at a fearsome army to come._

 _She was no longer a victim. No longer an idiot. Sansa Stark was now the Lady Defender of the Crannogmen and Neck. Her treasury was crammed with enough gold to make the Tyrells salivate in jealousy. The formerly ruined, basalt curtain of Moat Cailin stood as tall as those of Winterfell for the first time in a millennia. Even House Reed could recognize that her accomplishments far outpaced any Greywater Watch had contributed to the region throughout their entire tenure. When the voices of her childhood began to lash outwards with devastating blows Sansa simply stared at her achievement. Cersei Lannister was nothing, Joffrey Rivers was nothing, Petyr Baelish, all those tittering Tyrells… The list went on for pages. Most of those names belonged to the dead while what remained would find much more comfort in death than life._

 _While they all rotted away the Tully-haired beauty peered down at her dominion from one of the grandest keeps in Westeros. "You have done well for yourself," Came a voice from the shadows. Falling snow only added to the mysterious aura of Moat Cailin's most recent visitor. A graceful pair of feet took several, sharp steps to stand beside the Wardness of the Neck. Gazes of green and blue peered into the distant tangles of marshy treetops. "I remember this place as three crooked, ruined towers. Now it is easy to see that you will not stop until all twenty are standing once more."_

" _We are nearly finished with the castle," Sansa's tone was factual, as though giving a report to her superior. "Then the last few towers shall be easily finished in the next two years." She turned to size up the witch of the Westerlands. "No army shall ever pass through my fortress, Lady Lilith," She spoke with glacial honesty. Golden hair swirling in the cold wind, venomous face capable of seeing through any lie. Only the truth was ever to be spoken around this particular woman. They stood in silence for a very long while._

" _This was always inside of you, Sansa," The witch remarked, "That sort of steel which can accomplish great things. I saw it back when we were both in King's Landing, and I can still see it now." Such a compliment was not to be taken lightly, not when it came from the deadliest woman Westeros had ever seen._

 _A wicked smile flashed across Sansa Stark's pretty face as they shared conspiratorial looks._

Sansa Stark was woken from this dream in King's Landing only moments later. Dawn filtered through the windows signalling a very long day to come. Searing pain seemed to be the culprit behind this premature awakening, and the girl found herself disappointed that the sore spots were still so agitated. Hunching to both feet despite the agony she recalled how Joffrey subjected her to the most vicious beating yet. Despite Tyrion Lannister's intervention nothing seemed capable of tempering his nephew's hatred for the witch of Tarbeck-Reyne. Every time Robb Stark's Westerland ally outmaneuvered the Lannisters with some ingenious plan Sansa found herself punished. Severely.

Patches of yellow bruises still remained from the fall of Golden Tooth. Smatterings of violet welts were a brutal reminder of how fifteen-thousand Vale men split from House Arryn to join with the Starks. Effectively blocking any advances the Tyrell army was attempting to make on the southeastern side of the Riverlands. The black eye which now marred her pretty face followed after news reached King's Landing that Jason Mallister recognized Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne as his trueborn granddaughter. Solidifying the witch's position substantially as well as increasing the threat posed to Casterly Rock tenfold. Already there were rumors of peasants flocking to Golden Tooth so they could fight for the fallen Lady raised in a Sarsfield cottage. They proclaimed her one of their own.

Strangely enough Sansa Stark found herself having the most vivid dreams about this revolutionary noblewoman. Unnatural scenes based primarily in the future. Despite having shunned them as foolery for so much of her life the redhead now found herself pondering Old Nan's stories. Tales from when the North was still a wild, mystical land filled with ancient magic. Green seers could peer into the future. Despite her pious mother's warnings that sorcery was evil Sansa could not help but embrace these visions. She enjoyed seeing Moat Cailin rise from ruins to a profitable stronghold, watching a Northern Fleet of more than three-hundred ships glide across the Narrow Sea, and observing how powerful her House could become.

How powerful she could possibly become. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's words rung sweetly through Sansa's bruised head as she peered through the window. The steel was always inside of her. Even here, in King's Landing. Sharp enough to raise Moat Cailin, and certainly sharp enough to make a few lions bleed. Smiling triumphantly the young Lady enjoyed the rising sun while contemplating some of her darkest fantasies.

"I will avenge you father," Sansa forced her voice to be strong, "I promise."

OOOO

Next Chapter: Misery Breeds Fortune.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Misery Breeds Fortune.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

" _Lady Lilith-_

 _Walder Frey has begun to insist that I wed one of his daughters before anymore assistance is given to the cause. Accordingly, all of the Frey forces have departed Riverrun to return to the Twins. Both myself and the Blackfish have agreed that House Tully should have wedded into House Frey ages ago. Given that the number of men under my command has more than doubled since my betrothal contract was signed, the Lord of the Crossing should see reason. No Stark will marry a Frey anytime soon. Instead Edmure shall wed one of Lord Frey's granddaughters in my stead. Please inform him that he is to leave on this very morning, but do not attempt to follow suit. One of Lord Frey's stipulations happened to be that no sorceress was to step foot in his keep, and I have little desire to further antagonize him._

 _-Robb Stark, King in the North, and Trident._

The letter crumpled into ashes as her lips curled with anger. Of course she should not have been surprised that he would do something so foolish. Carting an entire army to the Twins just to intimidate old Walder Frey. "He who takes a light to find a snake, should start at his own feet," Lilith whispered the old saying somberly. Nobles like the Freys were dangerous to trust, little lordlings with a smattering of unjustified pride. Perhaps a Tully would serve to lessen the blow, but nothing would ever make up for having lost the King in the North.

She probably looked quite a sight in that moment. Fretting fervently at the repercussions of her sovereign's audacious recklessness. Bodice unlaced so that all of the letters which had previously been tucked safely inside could burn to nothingness. "Mi'lady," Ser Crook called while cracking open her door, "Lord Tully has arrived."

"Let him in, Ser Crook," The girl called back while setting more letters inside of an already flaming dish. One was a report detailing the movement of Randyll Tarly's ten-thousand troops throughout the Riverlands. The second came from Riverrun where Eleyna Westerling, now Brax, was already pregnant with Tytos Brax's heir. Squelching boots entered the chambers distracting Lilith from her assortment of both positive and negative news. "Lord Tully," She declared in a formal tone, "His grace requests that you meet with him at the Twins. It has been decided that you are to wed one of Walder Frey's daughters." At this point her slippered feet pivoted so that the pair of surprised, Tully eyes could be seen.

Lord Edmure was drenched with rain from what must have been a cumbersome visit to Seagard's fighting yards, or some other masculine pastime. Outside the window a vicious storm only just seemed to be rearing into existence. Winds snapping ferociously against her windows every so often. "I-I," He faltered devastatingly at this news, "I planned to ask my nephew if I could marry you." Those muddy boots squelched forth slightly, his blue gaze held a heartbroken desperation. "You are the most beautiful Lady in all of Westeros. Intelligent and exactly the type of woman my father would have wanted me to wed," His honesty prompted her to feel very uncomfortable. Now at this moment Lilith started to regret having forgotten to tighten her bodice again. She was undressed, unchaperoned, and stuck in unchartered waters.

The handsome, if not dim-witted, Lord stepped ever closer. "If the King wants me to marry a Frey then it will have to be at sword point," There was very little space separating them now. Every additional squelch proved that the entire situation was growing further out of her control. "You have ensnared me in your radiance," His suave voice oozed charm. Lilith was absolutely dumbfounded that such a typically unimpressive man could prove so devastatingly adept at the art of seduction. Cold fingers moved beyond the unlaced, lilac gown which hugged the beauty's body to press into her table of strategy. Wooden sigils rattled as Edmure Tully pressed his lips to Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's ear. "I have never wanted anything more in this life than to call you the Lady of Riverrun," Those damnably soft lips slid slowly towards her own.

"That will never be," She sounded morose, taking no pleasure in what needed to be done. "I will rule the Westerlands from Castamere, and you the Riverlands with a Frey by your side." Her own hands travelled upwards to cup the older man's handsome features. "If you truly love me, Edmure Tully," He was peering into her very soul, "Then leave for the Twins this instant. Secure Walder Frey's four-thousand men, and help me win this war against Tywin Lannister." Breaths racketed violently through his chest as he visibly struggled to accept her rejection. With a deep, bobbing gulp Lord Edmure nodded forlornly prior to fleeing the chambers with a pitiful hunch to both shoulders.

Lilith simply focused all of her attention back onto the yellowed map of Westeros spread across the desk. Wondering absentmindedly whether the fifteen-thousand Vale forces under Robb Stark's command would be best deployed against Randyll Tarly so soon in the game. Behind these strategies, however, were worried speculations regarding how Edmure Tully's declaration had caused her to feel. Perhaps the auburn-haired heir of Riverrun caused no feelings to bubble up in Lilith's stomach. Though his nephew certainly did, and she found herself daring to hope that the King in the North might now be able to make her his queen.

OOOO

"Lady Sansa," Shae entered the aforementioned girl's chambers cautiously, "Perhaps you would like a trip to the gardens. Margaery Tyrell has been asking after you." No response came from where the auburn-haired beauty leant against her windows. Sighing frustratedly the handmaiden began to move while continuing to speak. "Fresh air always does a bit of good," She gathered every visible linen into a basket, "Perhaps it will even help ease the dreams you have been having." The last bit was audacious, both of the women knew that such an impudent suggestion was out of line.

"I have no desire to waste away in the company of Tyrells," This response was both dreamy and dismissive. Indicative of a dynamic change which had been noticed by all in the court of King's Landing. "Lady Margaery will wrap her pretty words around my throat," Sansa did not turn, "Lady Olenna shall prick away my strength with her steely thorns." Prior to these dreams, or nightmares if one asked Shae's opinion, Sansa Stark was merely a disturbed girl. Haunted by the ghosts of her father, terrified of King Joffrey's vicious attentions. Now with every passing night she was growing both steely and enigmatic. In turn the girl's beauty somehow managed to become even more pronounced. Men took notice of Tyrion Lannister's little wolf bride. No longer did she seem to be that disenfranchised Stark, left isolated in the South many miles from home.

No, Sansa Stark was starting to embrace her intelligence in small, yet profound, ways. "Please, Lady Sansa. I worry that certain people will begin to demand your presence," Shae warned subtly. They both knew very well that Joffrey would not like to be avoided by his favorite hostage. "At least take the tincture Maester Pycelle made for you," The handmaiden slipped the basket to her hip. Coming to a stop next to her Lady at the windowsill. "I hear you rustling at night. Speaking, shaking, crying, screaming. These dreams are strange milady. We must put a stop to them."

"The dreams have simply woken me up, Shae," Sansa bit out fiercely, "They have never been the problem. I refuse to tremble beneath King's Landing any longer." At this point in the rebuttal her chin tipped defiantly towards the golden sky, "One day everyone who has wronged my House shall find themselves paying the price. Joffrey Rivers will lose his bastard head, while Cersei is penned in the stockades like a common whore." A smile twisted across those pretty, pink lips. "Now, I have important affairs to see to. Wash the linens and do not come back until this evening." With a reluctant huff the unorthodox handmaiden marched from the chambers.

Sansa moved from the window only when Shae closed the door with a small click. Fingers working furiously she started to skillfully twist her auburn locks into an intricate braid. Pleased with how well the gorgeous hairstyle turned out, Ned Stark's eldest daughter moved to change her clothes. Reaching deep within the wardrobe she withdrew a project several weeks in the making. Buried on the bottom next to Sandor Clegane's blood-stained Kingsguard cloak were two dresses. One was a splendid cacophony of silver, blue, and muddy-brown. Tully colors, her Lady mother's colors, the sort of colors that would bring Sansa's maternal heritage to the surface. Tugging the silky fabric across her willowy body proved to be a mental obstacle.

' _You have your mother's eyes. One day many men will drown in those eyes_.'

Today men would have to drown, and Sansa Stark would have to embrace womanhood much sooner than ever anticipated. The second gown of grey and white only served to drive this realization further home. She intended to wear that gown when finally free of King's Landing. When her brother beheaded Joffrey, toppled the Iron Throne, and she was recognized as a Princess of the North and Trident. Tugging the laces tightly into place the auburn-haired beauty slipped carefully over to the door. "Ser Balon," Her voice was enticingly charismatic, a lesson learned from Margaery Tyrell, "I wish to visit the Godswood."

He was a handsome man. Not quite so dashing as Arys Oakheart, but Sansa found herself acquiring a taste for stronger men. The sort that could cut a weedy knight like Loras Tyrell in half if they dared to touch her. After having spent most of her time being 'guarded' by the likes of Boros Blount or Meryn Trant it was always nice to be escorted by Balon Swann. He was courtly, courteous, and kind to her unlike so many others. More importantly, the newest Kingsguard just so happened to be honorable. During her time spent trapped with the Lannister's Sansa had learnt the hard way that such people often died painful deaths. That men like Eddard Stark were more easily manipulated than most in the capital.

' _A woman's weapon lies between her legs_.'

Cersei's drunken voice caused Sansa to shiver as it slithered mercilessly along inside of the girl's mind. Those words truer than any even Catelyn Stark had ever shared, so the Lady chose to embrace them. "You are a splendid knight, Ser Balon," Sansa complimented the rather stoic man as they walked, "I remember watching you at the Hand's Tourney, and I often chance a glance at the training yards." Never before could she remember having tried to converse with Balon Swann, nor did it seem, could he himself. Handsome he was indeed, but as the second son of a House sworn to Storm's End Balon never seemed worthy of her attentions. No, Sansa was a foolish girl who had believed only Joffrey Rivers or Loras Tyrell worth her time. However, as a hostage her options for victims to seduce were severely limited leaving only two candidates.

Tyrells were never to be trusted. A recurring theme in her dreams which led the Stark girl to cross Loras entirely off of the list. Accordingly Ser's Blount, Trant, and Oakheart were hardly options worth pursuing given that two were absolute scoundrels and one was in Dorne. Osmund Kettleblack was kind, yet far too old for Sansa to even consider attempting to seduce. Besides, Lord Tyrion whispered several times to Ser Bronn that the Kettleblacks were growing increasingly loyal to Cersei with each passing day. That simple bit of analyzation led Sansa to determine Balon Swann as her only hope. Preening prettily she smiled at him while hoping absentmindedly that Lord Baelish was honest. That she looked every bit as beautiful as her mother did.

"I remember seeing you at the tourney," He chuckled somewhat shamefacedly with a brilliantly white smile. "Loras Tyrell asked for your favor before I could. You have only grown more beautiful since then." At this last admission his tongue turned to stone again and Ser Balon wrenched his eyes from her. No doubt realizing it was unwise to flirt with a maiden married to Tyrion Lannister. Sansa was not off put by the response though. If anything his little admission proved that he was more than interested in her, as well as a highly viable opportunity. They arrived at the Godswood only a slight moment later prompting Sansa to kneel in prayer. Clearly their small conversation moments prior emboldened the young knight to intrude politely on her moment of reflection. "Lady Sansa, might I ask a question?" He asked while leaning against a tree with both muscular arms crossed tight.

"I imagine that you already have Ser Balon," Sansa flirted radiantly while desperately embracing the mannerisms of Margaery Tyrell.

"What do you pray for?" This question was pointed, deep, and completely unexpected. "Whether it is the Godswood, of the Sept you pray for at least an hour every time I guard you."

Everyone no doubt wondered that same thing as they judgingly observed Ned Stark's eldest daughter kneel before her various altars. How could a girl who lost her father, her naivety, her very soul find it bearable to plead to the Gods both old and new? Only a fool would remain pious to those very deities that left her stranded in the south beneath the thumb of Tywin Lannister. "I have nothing else to hold on to," Her voice was frostier than a blizzard, "No father to protect me. No Septa to chaperone me. No brothers or sisters to tease me. All I have is the Imp who crawls drunk into our chambers every evening." No tears followed these emotionless declarations.

' _You have your mother's eyes. One day many men will drown in those eyes_.'

Sansa Stark twisted her watery, blue gaze upwards towards where Ser Balon Swann leant against that tree. She stood yet he remained frozen in place, completely unmoving despite the dangerous threat moving his way. Drowning despite the lack of water. Sunlight falling through the treetops caused Sansa's braided hair to glimmer hotter than one-thousand fires. He wanted to touch and free her mass of fiery locks, it was plain as day in those green eyes. "I imagined myself wedded to a King," The girl admitted with a thick voice, "Now all I want is a knight. Someone valiant, honorable, and strong who can bring me back to my family. Who is willing to sacrifice everything he holds dear just to do the right thing." Her words painted a beautiful image which practically bled promises of riches to come.

They now stood only a foot apart from one another. Perhaps he was nowhere close to being the sort of knight Sansa dreamed of as a child. Now there were different dreams fluttering about in her heart. Ser Balon would break his vows to King Joffrey, for a place at the side of a Northern Princess. A handsome man who could perhaps father her children one day, the future heirs of Moat Cailin. Slowly the Wolf Maid reached out to stroke his face. "Turn your back on Joffrey, Ser Balon, he is no King worthy of a knight as just as yourself," Her whisper seemed to ensnare him even more tightly in place. "I need you if I am ever to find happiness again. Spare me the torture of this wretched place, and you will be given my heart in exchange."

He stared down at her for a long while with his face clouded full of a foreign emotion. Sansa could not recognize it, but simply guessed that it meant Balon Swann had finally sunk beneath the waves of her Tully-blue eyes. "I promise," He pledged earnestly, "To take you from King's Landing, Sansa Stark." Triumph coursed through the girl's veins as she pulled him down for a chaste kiss. Her second kiss. A kiss born from the successful bartering of her heart in exchange for freedom.

OOOO

 _The Rains of Castamere was playing all across the Twins. Fires raged as feasting tents were burned to cinders. Drunken men half-armored, half undressed beneath the banners of Houses Tully and Stark were assaulted by the Freys and Boltons. Lilith watched from where she stood in the middle of the scene. An invisible spectator who could hardly believe her green eyes. The coalition of men that she managed to save from ruin were being savaged, massacred. The thirty-thousand men in Robb Stark's army were battered down into nothingness. Drunken fools who had lacked the imaginations to even contemplate that the Freys, nonetheless the Boltons, would do something so unforgivable._

 _Deciding that the Lords of the North and Riverlands could not have fared much better she crept anxiously through the throngs of battling men. With each blade that slashed through her incorporeal form Lilith's speed increased tenfold. Soon enough she found herself nearing the Twins. Noticing the slaughter of Robb Stark's loyal companion. Doubtlessly Walder Frey ordered the Direwolf to be penned up in anticipation of this coming slaughter. Breathlessly she followed the trail of screams echoing throughout the stronghold. Heart pounding Lilith finally stormed through the doors of a thundering feast hall. Men were swarming about in vicious dances to the famous song which marked the downfall of her entire bloodline._

 _An old man sat at the head of this very bloody hall. Cackling himself half to death. Dacey Mormont was battered to death with a mace. A Lord decorated in the colors and sigil of House Mallister was bound with chains, her uncle Patrek. Greatjon Umber roared as he found himself subdued by entire legions of weasel-faced Frey sons. A Piper was taken hostage at the same time that a Manderly fell. Dead or captive, Lilith decided was unsure. Then as the crowd was thinned down she saw Robb Stark kneeling on the stone floor. Bolts sticking out of his sides into a puddle of blood. Roose Bolton stood above him with a victorious grin and a dirty knife dangled from his hand._

 _The scream which tore through Lilith's throat was bloodcurdling. A handsome figure, just as unreal as her appeared into existence. "You have a chance to stop all of this. At a price." His eyes were a blazing violet, his hair long tufts of platinum-silver, and his muscular body trapped inside an exquisite suit of Valyrian steel. In the blink of an eye the man appeared before her. "Save Robb Stark, and you will fall further within my grasp." Strong arms moved to wrap around Lilith's night shift-clad body. Calloused fingers gripped indecently into the soft flesh of her attractive body as he whispered in her ear. "Are you willing to open up your heart even further to me? Are you willing to pay the price for Robb Stark's life?"_

" _Yes," She croaked, "I am." Robb Stark was dead on the floor. Due to no fault of her own, but his honorable stupidity. Still there was guilt in her heart for having allowed the man she… Cared deeply for to suffer such a tragic fate. She would die again if there were a chance to put things right. To rescue Patrek, Greatjon, and that one Piper boy. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne awoke when this handsome specter chuckled huskily in her ear._

The girl sat up in her bed with a pounding heart. Slipping from under the covers she started to dash about at a wild pace. Somewhere, out beneath the early morning sun Robb Stark was undoubtedly travelling towards his ultimate death. Lilith knew that she probably should not have sacrificed such a great thing to the man in that dream. The very same deity whom Maggy had so sternly warned her about. Yet Robb Stark was an honest, honorable, just man, and he would be one of the finest Kings Westeros had ever before seen. Besides all of that she would be damned to the seventh hell if _Walder Frey_ managed to snuff out her chances at cutting Tywin Lannister to little bits. "Roose Bolton as well," She whispered to herself as a pair of old trousers were tugged on hastily, "I will kill them all."

Whirling from the chambers she found Ser Crook resting against the wall. "Hand me your blade Ser Crook," She announced loudly, causing the man to jump into upright consciousness. Of course he asked questions, but the Knight did as bidden without any justification. "A massacre is about to occur at the Twins. I saw it in my dreams," The witch handed the Father's Gift to him, "Take care of this. I would not be able to stand if a Frey or Bolton took it from me."

"Do you intend to go to the Twins?" Ser Crook demanded somewhat sluggishly. Though this could be blamed on the fact that she woke him abruptly from slumber and mentioned a plot to crush the Northern Rebellion. "My Lady," They were suddenly running side-by-side as Lilith clamored loudly for guards, "This is not wise. Ask your grandfather for an escort, or at the very least allow me to travel with you!" His desperate wheezes fell on deaf ears. Several guards arrived only to leave again once she summoned both of her grandfathers to meet in Lord Mallister's solar.

"You are one of my only dependable allies," Lilith professed as they started to run again. "With my interference Robb Stark's forces may not be fully decimated, though they will still be scattered to the point of uselessness." Her chest was aching, but much more work needed to be done. "While I minimize whatever losses are suffered in the coming storm you must help both my grandfathers prepare this region for widespread sieges." Soon enough the pair burst into Lord Mallister's solar. She wasted no time sweeping over to the table laden with war plans. Inevitably both Ulric and Lord Jason arrived at the same time demanding answers. With forced patience Lilith explained again what would happen to Robb Stark's campaign that very evening.

"Lord Mallister will send a spare few riders to Pinkmaiden, Golden Tooth, Greywater Watch, Wayfarer's Rest, and Raventree hall." Turning to Ser Crook, "You will escort my cousin Lyra Mallister to Riverrun where she _must_ be wedded to Brynden Tully. Inform them of the situation at hand and prepare for the Blackfish's arrival. Now." He received the urgency of the message and fled instantly to prepare for travel. "Grandfather," She grasped both of Ulric's hands in her own, "Send ravens to our Lords of the Vale and White Harbor. Make sure that they are aware of Roose Bolton's treachery. Tell the Vale Lords that we need them to offer sanctuary to any displaced troops."

At this point Lilith made no mention of her plans to leave for the Twins. Neither of the men would allow it. So as they moved to initiate their roles in her long list of directions she slipped from the solar. Rounding up five of her grandfather's men, who were only too willing to impress the witch of Tarbeck-Reyne, and speeding off into the night.

OOOO

The Twins loomed high into the night sky above. An entire day had been spent riding, and Lilith feared that they were late until after having arrived. No fighting had broken out between the thousands of men assembled across the Frey lands. "Each of you will take a Lord back to Seagard," She announced as her stallion whinnied to a halt, "I do not care if you must sacrifice your lives to get them back to these horses. Remember that the security of your families is at stake if we allow the Freys to take these hostages." Perhaps the men were less than emboldened by that grim speech, but now they all at least looked to be taking the situation seriously. Dismounting she marched swiftly down to the wild encampment of drunken soldiers. When the attack occurred it already appeared that the Starks would be at an extreme disadvantage.

"Show no signs that we are in a hurry," Her voice whispered the party of men behind her, "Focus only on staying close by my side." They pushed through the throngs of men as Lilith fought back the flashbacks from her dream. This was real, and a flying sword could kill her if she were not thinking clearly. Upon nearing the fortress she caught sight of a very welcome face. "Ser Brynden," Her voice drew attention, yet there was not a care left in her heart. Only a commander of such prestige could possibly send packs of drunken men running for the hills. He turned around mid-piss though it did not stop her from sinking a clawed hand into his arm.

"Lady Lilith, Walder Frey expressly forbade-," He started before she interjected urgently.

"This wedding was a trap. The Boltons and Freys are turn cloaks. Our men are drunk, unarmed, and after Edmure weds his Frey bride they will set fire to every feasting tent." Green eyes peered sternly into his own, "You need to assemble a retreat while we rescue any potential hostages. Go back to Riverrun and prepare for a siege that is not to be lifted until my return with our Vale Lords." Wasting no more time they both dashed off to their respective obligations. Him to salvage the army, and her to an an absolute bloodbath. Everything seemed to explode into chaos when they reached the unguarded drawbridge to the Twins. It seemed that Ser Brynden managed to effectively seize any opportunity provided to him by her warning.

Already a pack of Tully and Stark forces were mobilized into action. Staving off Freys and Boltons while their disorderly comrades were pulled from feasting pavillions not yet lit aflame. Inside screams were beginning to echo. Not looking to see if any of her men were following Lilith dashed frantically inside of the crossing. Extricating her blade just in time to ram it into the stomach of an approaching Frey guard. "AESYIR," The witch roared at an approaching flank of soldiers no doubt headed to quell Brynden Tully's disruption of the slaughter. All of them scattered to the flagons as she and her men finished them off. Breaths growing heavier with each passing moment Lilith fought the onslaught of Walder Frey's garrison.

Each slash, kick, blow, and jab resulted in the removal of another obstacle preventing her from reaching Robb Stark. The Mallister men close behind fought with just as much fervor, and only one fell. They avenged his death swiftly though before bursting into the locked doors of Walder Frey's feast hall. Dacey Mormont, Robin Flint, and Smalljon Umber were all already dead. Greatjon Umber still fought against the traitors despite the crossbolts sticking from his body. All five of the guards focused on rescuing their respective Lords while Lilith danced towards Robb Stark. A bolt flew into her left shoulder causing the girl to scream in pain as she decapitated a Frey son with Ser Crook's blade. Chanting desperately and waving her limp, left arm Lilith caused the gallery full of crossbow-wielding musicians to explode outwards in a cloud of raining stone.

Chips of rock blinded her, and also provided enough distraction for the Mallister men to flee. Marq Piper, Greatjon Umber, Patrek Mallister, and the brother of Karyl Vance were all escorted, or dragged from the hall, as a result. Hoping they all would make it back to Seagard unscathed Lilith fought her way forth. Completely alone now. A sword flashed down towards her back until it was crossed with her own steel. The weasel-faced fuck was far too strong for such a match of wills, so she was forced to use more magic. He found himself thrown across the hall and slammed into the now-broken walls with a horrifying smack. Lilith then found herself forced to kick another foe into submission after receiving a blow to her jaw. Nose gushing blood the witch looked up just in time to find Roose Bolton thrusting a dagger into the chest of Robb Stark.

Above them both Walder Frey was fleeing through a door behind his table with a delighted expression. Lilith felt like collapsing onto the flagstones to die like her fallen King, yet she found herself lifted by fury. Even when a massive, beast of a man came from nowhere and kicked her into a table she continued to fight. Ramming a fallen dining utensil into his ugly face. Sides aching, magical energy fast depleting, Lilith fought valiantly towards Robb Stark's abandoned corpse. Dragging his unarmored corpse behind she continued to struggle against a losing battle. Every Frey or Bolton that fell was replaced by another specifically ordered to murder her. A trio of men were knocked violently onto their hindquarters as she flicked a wrist.

Eyes unfocused, ears clouded with rushing blood, and body screaming in agonized protest due to the bolts sticking from her body, Lilith still towed her King along. These pains were so wretched that it took all her willpower not to abandon Robb Stark after escaping the horrific feast hall. All of her struggles proved worth the effort though, for they eventually wound up in the courtyard. Knowing that the end was near Lilith cradled him inside of her arms while tucking away in the shadows. More men neared. Perhaps she would be lucky to die of blood loss first. Anything was preferable to being raped by a pack of Freys.

Even in the dimness caused by her approaching death Lilith noticed an important detail. The pen where Greywind was trapped rattled beneath his enraged blows. Howls, snarls, and other vicious noises broke the screams of falling men. Green eyes flickered with sudden defiance to the Frey men. "I will die on my own terms, bastards," Pulling deep within her magical reserves, "Aesiyr." The wooden cage exploded outwards allowing Greywind to break free of his prison. Nothing more than a river of scarlet blood and bits of bone were left of the men who dared to raise their blades against her. Collapsing back against the wall behind her the girl let a hand wander lazily downwards to stroke Robb Stark's Direwolf behind the ears.

Fingers tightened into her dead King's black curls as she continued to listen to the battle raging only feet away. ' _I cannot collect the price yet, my beauty_ ,' Darkness buzzed just beyond Lilith's consciousness, standing in front of her was the handsome deity. ' _Bring him back. You know how it is done, and I can give you the magical strength you lack, my sweet love_.' Here those violet, Valyrian, Godly eyes flashed fearsomely, ' _All for a price of course_.'

"I will pay the price," Lilith relented again. Maggy would have called her a fool for giving into the entity so easily, but all that mattered was the broken state of her heart. A sudden surge of strength allowed the witch to pull her Stark into out of the shadows. Greywind fought off any enemies who neared to close. All the way to the riverbank the corpse was dragged. She gagged as her stomach sloshed with sorrow, rage, and love. Then they arrived at the river which was already teeming with bodies of the fallen. Both friend and foe alike. Once long ago, Lilith had been nothing more than a naive girl in Lannisport. Reading from books of magic while all sorts of enemies prowled with unhinged jaws.

Now she found herself a victim of humanity's worst cruelties. Almost completely friendless in a cold riverbank. Prepared to perform some of the most dangerous magic Westeros had ever seen. Robb Stark was stripped of his bloody outfit. Any crossbolts visible beneath the moonlight plucked out of the King's pale flesh. True to the deity's word there was magic to be found deep inside of her soul. No longer able to produce tears Lilith tore a piece of unbloodied fabric from her shirt prior to initiating the ritual. He was bathed in the bloodied river. Words flew almost instinctively from Lilith's hoarse throat. A cloud passed overhead the moment that she finished her ministrations.

"Keep me close until I reawaken, Robb Stark," She whispered, "Promise you'll protect my body. Promise this to me."

Unflinching, Tully-blue eyes did not blink as her King nodded. "Aye, I promise my Lady."

Only seconds later a patch of mud opened underfoot in the river. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne swallowed entire mouthfuls of dirty water as she drowned. Not bothering to fight an inevitable death. Not bothering to struggle against a price that needed paying.

Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne found herself dying for the second time in her life.

OOOO

Hopefully this chapter was believable. Keep in mind that the Starks were far from saved by Lilith. She simply gave them a fighting chance to continue the struggle.

Next Chapter: Butterwells, and Magic Spells.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen: Butterwells, and Magic Spells.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

Warning: Sexual content, proceed at your own risk.

OOOO

Wind blew through the ramshackle window into his equally ramshackle room. So cold that the words rose unbidden to break the air. "Winter is coming," Robb Stark hissed while trying to ensure that the barely closed wounds covering his body were protected from any discomforting chill. Almost two months ago, on that very same day, the Red Wedding scattered the Young Wolf's forces across Westeros. Robb was slain by the rebellious bannermen of both his father and grandfather. Now almost half of the Riverlords were kneelers to Joffrey Waters, and the rest were trapped under siege. Blue eyes twisted to stare down at the form which occupied that disintegrating, dusty bed. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was as far from waking as Robb was from ever being called a King again.

Still that promise obliged him to brokenly care for the corpse of his deceased love. A serving crone arrived every day to wash what was left of Tywin Lannister's greatest threat. Preservation of the body proved not quite so toilsome as one would have imagined given that hot, summer days were fast-vanishing. Fighting back grief-stricken tears he tried to not make light of her sacrifice by giving into despair. Sitting on a splintered stool Robb desperately tried to conceive some way to break Tywin Lannister's sudden dominance over the Riverlands. Perhaps the Northern army was not fully broken at the Twins, having only lost around three-thousand men. Yet what did remain was split inside of little fighting pockets of resistance all over central Westeros.

Most were hidden in the Neck at Greywater Watch. Trapped between the Freys and Moat Cailin which was now held by House Bolton. Apparently he had not been the only one surprised by the Bolton's betrayal. For Ramsay Snow, or Bolton now from what he heard, managed to drive Maege Mormont and his Lady mother right back into the Manderly lands. With assistance from the royal fleet Roose Bolton shipped his entire army back to the North where Winterfell remained solidly under the possession of his House. Especially given the pro-Bolton neutrality of Houses Dustin, Ryswell, and a renegade Karstark faction.

The rest were scattered in various places. Most of them fleeing to Seagard, and then on to such places as Pinkmaiden or even Wayfarer's Rest after Jason Mallister finally capped off his number of refugee soldiers. Very few seemed to have made it so far south to Riverrun where the Blackfish was allegedly locked in a contentious siege with Kevan Lannister. Both of the Lords were stalemated due to the equality of hostage currency. Jaime Lannister easily matched Edmure Tully in value. Whatever was left found safety with the Vale Houses that broke from Lysa Arryn. Robb found a little comfort at least in the fact that his eastern supporters could not easily be punished by Tywin Lannister due to the safety provided by their mountains.

"Your grace," The door opened as a confident-looking Lady marched in without warning. He could hardly blame her though, for this was her husband's decrepit keep, and she had every right. She was an attractive woman despite the locks of grey hair which tumbled down her shoulders. Given that his betrothal to the Freys was completely done the woman spent most of her time pushing various, equally attractive daughters on him. None would do though. House Butterwell was no longer at the strength it used be. During the Blackfyre Rebellions they were stripped of every last bit of their wealth by House Targaryen due to a betrayal of the crown. This was a marked diminishment in affluence. The Butterfields went from politically influential, wealthy producers of cows and wine, to nothing. Impressive lands partially stripped away only for what little was left to be sold away or salted. Leaving them with nothing more than a burning hatred towards the Targaryens.

Only quelled when House Tully agreed to join Robert's Rebellion resulting in the former royal family's brutal dethroning. Fortunately this meant that Robb found a suitable place to hide after escaping the Twins with Lilith's very cold body. "I have held my husband off for long enough. He is no longer willing to tolerate your holing up in this room with… The witch's body. No matter how much Tully blood runs through your veins we cannot have the servants growing discontent."

"I understand, Lady Butterwell," He swallowed thickly, but did not turn to face his hostess, "We shall bury her on the morrow." The door clicked shut again leaving Robb Stark with only the company of his thoughts again. Stepping towards the bed he bent to grasp one of those cold hands in his own. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was dead. No matter how many delirious, post-resurrection oaths he had sworn that one fact would never change. Nor would the agonizing emptiness which was filling the vacant space in his heart.

It was a sunny day the next morning when he woke to bury her. Lord Malloy Butterwell was kind enough to have a respectable little coffin put together with some spare timber from his salted lands. Ramshackle like everything else inside of the man's almost embarrassingly small keep. Robb wanted to sob and scream in protestation as the box was lowered into the earth. He vowed to himself that when the war was won Lilith would be retrieved from the ground. Buried in the Winterfell Crypts where she belonged. Where any woman fit enough to have been a Queen of the North, Trident, and Westerlands deserved to rest. Rain started to pound with each shovel of dirt which was tossed down on the pine vessel. The autumn winds picked up causing his unkempt, black curls to flap wildly around.

That evening Robb reclined on the ancient bed, and finally allowed his tears to flow free.

OOOO

Green eyes snapped open from the claustrophobia-inducing confines of a coffin. Lilith's heart was pounding mightily with what felt awfully akin to fear. Strangely enough, however, she could not determine why the fear was there to begin with. Breathing deeply the girl sighed while trying to find the easiest way out of her deathbed. Leave it to Robb Stark, the girl thought, to break the one promise that would have makes just a bit easier. Suffering flashbacks to when she awoke from that pit in on the beach of Lannisport Lilith willed the earth to shift. Groans rumbled beneath her prison as though the earth were preparing to break the coffin in half.

With a thundering boom, and a massive crack, the closed lid was wrenched upwards alongside a mountain of soil. Pulling herself upwards Lilith stood upwards despite a severe case of atrophied muscles. Feeling like an old woman she hobbled desperately out of the six foot pit. Collapsing into the wet, soggy ground with a horrible cramp in her only recently resurrected stomach. The wind was whipping her golden hair about. Rain splashed against her sore face leaving a sort of relief it never had before. Both of her eyes widened as she reached out hesitantly with splayed fingers, "Joyein." Droplets of water started to coalesce around the flesh in dancing, swirling patterns.

Lights suddenly lit up from the dilapidated keep which she had been buried beneath. Soon enough there was a crowd of men marching ever closer. "-Unnatural," One of them screamed, he wore the garb of a Septon, "-ard rumors of sorcery but this is unacceptable. Burn her on what remains of that coffin, Lord Butterwell. For the sake of the Seven!"

"-Will not!" A firm, gravelly voice retorted fiercely, "You must also have heard of what she did at the Twins. Saved plenty of good Lords! She is the only reason Robb Stark's campaign has not collapsed." Gentle fingers hefted a very woozy Lilith to both feet. "That King kept moaning about how you would come back. I never believed him, Lady Tarbeck-Reyne." She peered into the man's face. Bearded, crisscrossed with scars, and extremely old. "I heard of the miracles you have performed yet this must truly be the greatest!" He seemed incapable of fully comprehending what had just occurred.

"Hardly," Lilith disagreed even though surviving another Price was actually a miracle in and of itself. "None of it will measure up to my gratitude if you give me a hot bath, and warm bed, Lord Butterwell." That promise was the last thing to come from her croaky lips as she collapsed forwards into darkness once more.

OOOO

The maid, some girl with a gap between both teeth, rubbed the soap into Lilith's scalp. Humiliation coursed through the witch's body at being too weak to even bathe herself, yet the serving wench seemed pleased at an opportunity to serve someone so important. They both jumped when the door to her chambers were practically slammed open. "YOUR GRACE," The other girl started to shriek shrilly in protest.

"Get out," Robb Stark snarled without any venom, "Leave us now." Seeming to finally pick up on the sovereign's almost desperate urgency the maid fled. Soon enough the door was closed again leaving Lilith to shiver beneath the impassioned gaze of a very handsome Stark. She was completely visible for him apart from the sponge and bubbles. "You came back, Lady Lilith," He no longer sounded vicious, or commanding, but incredibly awed. Falling to both knees beside the tub, fingers reaching up to curl compassionately around her head. "I thought I would never see those green eyes again." They kissed chastely, hands roaming exploratively.

Lilith greatly appreciated the stick of mint she had chewed on prior to his arrival. They lost themselves completely in one another until he began to shrug free of his tunic. "No," She placed a hand against the King's chest, "I will not relinquish my maidenhead while I am unwedded." Despite how powerful, wealthy, or beautiful a woman was it made little difference. If Lilith gave in and let him take her she would be seen as spoiled goods with her marital prospects severely damaged.

"But I am going to wed you," Robb smiled, sneaking a mischievous peck upon her cheek. "House Frey has nullified any possible marriage," Those Tully-blue eyes glazed slightly as he finally caught sight of her nudity. "You will be my Queen in the North, Trident, and Westerlands. Your beauty and wisdom as a ruler shall be sung about many centuries after our deaths." A pain stung inside of her chest at being told what the future would hold. After the pain of dying a second time Lilith started to hunger even more deeply for one thing. Castamere. That glittering, golden palace for which Ellyn Reyne seemed to harbor so much affection.

"I must wed Willas Tyrell, maybe even a Westerland Lord if we have any hope of winning this war," The words burned. Truly Lilith desired to be with the handsome King kneeling beside her tub. Yet rationality reasoned that it would most likely never work. He needed to secure alliances in the politically turbulent North. Still, she found her resolve weakening with the adorable frown which tugged at his kissable lips. Crawling into a standing position Lilith shakily commanded any remaining water to drip down into the tub.

"What if your King commands it," He rebutted sharply, "What if I will not rest until that crown is perched upon your lovely head?" Golden waves now dry, and cascading to her bare bottom, Lilith accepted his assistance in exiting the still-steaming tub. His Kingly fingers roamed to grip gently into her bottom as he led Lilith towards the gnarled, creaky old bed. Now in her ear, "What if I kill any man who would ever dare ask for your hand in marriage?"

A sinister smile spread across her lips as he set her down upon the lumpy mattress. Everything in the Butterwell Holdfast seemed a broken version of its former glory. "You are far too honorable for such tyranny, my grace," He winced at the formal title, "I admire you because that sort of behavior is beyond your moral capacity." At this point she reached forth to grasp at his tunic, all too aware of how there was nothing underneath. Though Lilith would not repay his advances with her virginity, there was still a great deal of desire burning. Rising slowly to both knees so that she was lined up just beneath Robb Stark's neck Lilith started to tug at the fabric.

"I am capable of horrible things," He jibed back, semi-serious, "Do you want to see just how honorable I am?" Smiling as the soft words pressed against her ear Lilith finally removed the tunic. His breeches were on the floor soon enough leaving them both nude. Reclining on the bed again she watched him scramble along to fill any vacant space. A kiss to her lips, another to her neck, a third to her breasts, and all too suddenly he was kissing the most intimate part of her body. Gripping tightly into his black curls Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne mewled quietly as pleasure burned through her body. Creamy thighs wrapping around Robb's head the buxom witch felt her back begin to arch off of the scratchy sheets.

They both erupted at the same time prompting Lilith to absentmindedly realize that he had been managing his own lust simultaneously. In the afterglow of this passionate dance they enjoyed one another's nakedness. He favored her lips, and mountainous breasts. She his handsome face, and sculpted muscles. Stroking gently until they both fell into a deep slumber.

OOOO

"Joyein dozak," Lilith whispered breathily, "Guese Hakogan." Watery and earth were combined only to be parted again as the contaminated liquid was removed. Another barrel was filled with the salty water as she realized that her task had finally been completed. Repayment of the Butterwell kindness was, as she promised, repaid in what must have been an incredibly miraculous manner. Over the course of a week Lilith tested her newfound affinity for water out on Lord Malloy's lands. Extricating the salt proved an immensely difficult process as it required the tedious development of sufficient drainage systems. Then followed the fact that much of the salt was more than half-a-century old. Yet she recalled how the family that sheltered not only Robb Stark, but herself as well, deserved every bit fortune that would be reaped from the toilsome process.

So after days of roaming outside while subjugating the wild elements to her will it all finally paid off. More than three-quarters of the remaining Butterwell land was usable once again. By the next year or so she expected them to have a booming agricultural production once again. Additionally Lilith had even gone so far as to visit the livestock, placing fertility spells all about the pens. Despite being nowhere near as intricate as Maggy's they would still do the crude trick. "How can I thank you for the kindness you have shown our House," Lord Malloy exclaimed foolishly. The pretty daughter standing by his side, far more politically minded, rolled both blue eyes.

"Simply by returning House Butterwell to everything it once was, my Lord," She smiled kindly at the man. "Produce milk and meat by the cartful as your late your grandfather did. Craft wines that put the Redwyne's to envious shame." Blonde hair whipping in the wind, "Purchase the lands stolen from you by House Targaryen, so that Whitewalls can be rebuilt in all its former glory. Make the Riverlands strong again by growing to your full potential." Inside of her head Lilith's expectations for House Butterwell went much further than she declared verbally. The strongest allies were always those that one rescued from the brink of poverty and destitution. With this kindness in mind the Butterwells would not only return to prominence, but remain loyal to House Tully as well. Exactly the sort of bloodline that stood to marry whatever offspring the Blackfish produced with his Mallister bride.

"My father will do that ten times over," Marden Butterwell interjected with a stern gaze. Red curls flashing beneath the trace remaining amounts of sunlight. Lilith was already quite impressed by the other girl's knife-like intelligence. If the previous Lords of House Butterwell had been anything similar to their granddaughter then Lilith could easily comprehend how they were so politically influential. Crossing both arms tightly she bid the pair of awestruck nobles to enjoy their sudden in upswing in fortune. Sweeping into the humble holdfast Lilith found her way into Robb Stark's chambers. He was hunched over a map of Westeros covered with painted stones. Wrapping a comforting arm about her lover's waist the girl tilted her head against his chest.

The North was almost dominated by legions of rocks marked by the flayed man sigil. In fact, House Bolton and Karstark would have been entirely in control of the kingdom if not for White Harbor. What little forces Robb sent with Maege Mormont and his mother augmented the Manderly regiments. Proving to have been a fortuitous strategic measure as it gave the Stark loyalists a fighting chance if Houses Dustin and Ryswell chose to support their Lannister-installed overlord. Green eyes moving downwards she remembered something incredibly important. A flicker of a plot set into motion what seemed like a lifetime ago. "Do you have any inkling of how many men are being held in Seagard?" She asked while staring at her grandfather's seat.

"Perhaps six-thousand," Robb sighed a bit forlornly, "Ten-thousand are rumored to be hiding at Greywater Watch."

Welcoming the smile which spread across her pretty features Lilith pressed a kiss to his neck. "We will travel to Seagard. When I get you in Tywin Lannister will greatly regret the position the Red Wedding put us in."

"Why is that?" Robb asked with earnest curiosity.

"My grandfather has the only fortress in the Riverlands with a port. He has no doubt been busy at work constructing a fleet from the funds that I allocated to Seagard." Gripping his hand tightly she continued, "You will take those six-thousand men he is sheltering by ship to raid the Westerlands. When Banefort, Faircastle, Kayce, and Feastfires have fallen the Greyjoys will strike." Feeling giddy Lilith ran a finger down the map, "Westeros will learn that you are still alive at the same time Tywin Lannister loses his protection from naval invasions."

"What about you?" He allowed his hand to wander down to cup her bottom again, "Do you really think I would want to let you go?"

"It does not matter what you want," Lilith responded in a steely tone, "I plan to crush Kevan Lannister at Riverrun and send Ser Brynden to lift the other sieges. Then I shall make a visit to King's Landing." Forcing her lips to his initially sulky, reluctant pair they wound up ensnared in a lusty embrace. Any protests fled his body as she pressed him firmly against the table. "Now hush while I have my way with you, fair maiden," She giggled mockingly.

OOOO

Sansa Stark knew that what she planned to do was beyond dangerous. It could potentially result in another Stark beheading. Yet risks needed to be taken for a reward to be collected, more words learned from the green dreams. Especially with Robb having died at the Red Wedding only two months earlier her escape plans seemed much more pressing. Any day now it seemed Joffrey came ever closer to following up on his threats. To put a 'Baratheon' bastard inside of her belly. A 'Baratheon' bastard who would potentially stand to inherit Winterfell and Lordship of the North. "Are you sure you wish to do this Lady Sansa," Balon urged what seemed like the thousandth confirmation from her lips, "We can escape without any help from _him_."

"You and I _are_ indeed more than capable of escaping from King's Landing," She nodded with Tully-blue eyes which hardened with each passing moment. "Yet my plans after that escape require an army. They necessitate the foreign assistance which my brother failed to secure." Sansa slipped discreetly inside of an alcove so that her guard could be more easily persuaded. Hands tangling in his hair she placed a dainty kiss against the surprised man's lips. "Being free means nothing without ensured safety, my knight," The auburn-haired beauty leant against his armored form, "This must happen." Spinning swiftly away again she continued to sweep determinedly towards her destination.

Metal boots clanked shortly after with a sort of reluctant ring cling to each step. Even though her knight was not fully supportive Sansa did not really care. If everything went according to plan she would replace her brother as the Queen in the North soon enough. Perhaps even destroying the Lannister coalition as well. More than that sense of obligation she felt to rescue her brother's cause Sansa longed to see her mother again. To hug and kiss the last, living person from Winterfell. Feeling more resolved than ever she knocked gently on the door which hid the man who would determine her future. "Enter," Came a thick accent that, while hot and watery, was very far from unpleasant.

Without wasting another second Sansa motioned for Ser Balon to hide around a corner, so that the curiosities of passerby would not be piqued. Slipping into the lavishly decorated chambers she attempted to display the same, refined cool that her own mother so masterfully displayed. "Lady Stark," Came a surprised response to her unexpected arrival, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Oberyn Martell was clad in silky maroons which exposed far more of the male physique than Sansa was acquainted with. He stood to proffer her a seat at the table situated before his luxuriously large window. The Red Viper's eyes flickered to her hand-crafted gown as she was offered a glass of Dornish wine.

"I find that I must refrain from such revelry, Prince Martell," She rejected the glass with an eloquently dismissive hand wave, and steely voice. "Unfortunately there will be little pleasure to be found in our topic of conversation," The eldest Stark girl crossed both legs while leaning forwards elegantly.

"Of course," His lips tightened sternly, any humor fast-vanishing, "I must offer my condolences for your loss. From what I have gathered Robb Stark was an honorable, and just man."

"I too," She professed easily, "Must apologize for your losses, Prince Martell. As well as the fact that you find yourself forced to tolerate the company of those responsible." If it were possible Sansa would have straightened her back further to say what came next. "My father might have fought against the Dornish, yet from what I gather even he was repulsed by what occurred at Tywin Lannister's orders." They both understood what the girl hoped to gain from saying such a thing. An opportunity to bridge a gap in political relations which long preceded her birth.

Head nodding forwards his cunning eyes glittered in response. "Do not presume that my House harbors any ill-will for your own, Lady Stark," He smiled again though it was still quite stiff, "There were no Stark men at the Sack of King's Landing." Pouring himself a glass of wine, "Nor can your bloodline be faulted for rising against the Mad King." Those brown eyes raked interestedly across Sansa's form as he leant back into his high-backed seat. She could not fault him for it, as every bit of her appearance was now being used to convey a deeper meaning. The red, gold, and yellow gown she wore practically screamed an interest in aligning Winterfell more closely with Sunspear. In Westeros sigils and colors were often more capable of defining an individual than even actions. Hence it was an incredibly useful gift to be able to craft her own clothing. Using the fabrics bought with Tyrion's wealth to define herself independently of House Lannister. "Does your husband know that you are visiting me?" He wondered, as though thinking something similar.

"Of course not, Prince Martell," She tipped her head gently into the sunlight, causing the light to flash across the loosely braided mass of auburn. Much like Ser Balon, Oberyn Martell swallowed as Sansa's hair flashed hotter than the color of Weirwood sap. "I come here as a Stark to speak with you," Blue eyes peered into his enticingly brown pair, "An enemy of House Lannister to my very last breath."

"Those are dangerous things to say, my Lady," The Dornishman warned, yet smiling all the same.

"My father was executed in this very city for treason," Sansa shrugged emotionlessly in response, "It makes sense that I would follow in his footsteps." They both stared at one another in that moment. Finding themselves tiring of this pretty game. Wanting only to speak the thoughts that were truly on their minds. "If I might be frank, my prince," She emphasized the my with a breathy pitch that always seemed effective with Ser Balon, "I have never consummated my marriage to Tyrion Lannister." The attractive widow's peak of Oberyn Martell's forehead rose with intrigue.

"Why would that be of interest to myself, Lady Stark?" He asked while propping both elbows against the table.

"Because it is the perfect opportunity for your House to exact revenge against House Lannister," She remained matter of fact. Hoping desperately that her mother's frosty courtesy would do what it was intended. "I am the last-living child of Eddard Stark," That caused pain to flash throughout Sansa's heart though she bit through the last few words. "Perhaps my brother was murdered at the Red Wedding, but his army was spared. Lend me the strength of Dorne. Break the Northern army free again, make me Queen of the North and Trident, and you will be given the Lannister's on a golden platter."

Her chest rose and fell with hope, an emotion only present thanks to the dreams. Oberyn Martell would prove her salvation, she was sure of it. He only needed to give a simple yes. Then father, Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and all of those fallen Northmen would be given the justice they deserved. Justice only a Stark of Winterfell could provide. The blue-eyed beauty stared at him, calculating the interested look which was spreading across Oberyn Martell's face. "My brother would send me back into exile if I kidnapped Ned Stark's daughter from King's Landing only for the promise of revenge. He is very politically-minded you see."

"What else do you want? What else do I possibly have to give?" Sansa wondered naively aloud, already figuring out the answer to that question in her head as the words were being spoken. Oberyn Martell was a second son of Dorne. If he wedded a Northern Princess then it would undoubtedly prove enough to convince Doran Martell to throw his weight behind her cause. "I will do whatever it takes," She snapped aloud before he could even respond with an answer. Standing to both feet Sansa stared at the Dornish Prince, "I will wed you if it is what shall put a Stark back in Winterfell."

His resulting smile was filled with the promise of lust, triumph, and, most importantly, revenge. "We will leave for Dorne in a fortnight," Oberyn Martell agreed, also standing, "Focus on protecting your maidenhead in the meantime." With a provocative kiss laid upon her cheek Sansa Stark found herself fleeing the chambers of her latest betrothed.

Wondering whether she was simply trading a Lannister cage for a Martell one.

OOOO

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You all really inspired me to update sooner. Hope this chapter was good, as a lot of big stuff happened.

Next Chapter: A Dream of the Darkest Sister.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: Dreams of the Darkest Sister.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

They dragged her mercilessly along with the chains, often forcing her to trip over the sloshy ground. Bound in layers of metal as though she were a Myrish slave. Rocks, mud, and other foul substances rocketed forth from the crowds of jeering men. "BURN THE WITCH," They screamed with a dizzying amount of hatred, "BURN HER ALIVE!" Still she was pulled ever closer to the tent where the generals were no doubt gleefully awaiting her arrival. The men clad in Lannister garb who escorted her through the camp came to a jarring halt. Lilith resisted tooth and nail despite the binding of her limbs. Despite the gagging of her mouth which prevented any sorcery from coming to the rescue.

So many eyes peered forth with so many different emotions as Lilith found her chains staked into the pavilion floor. Some of Tywin Lannister's more mindless, unintelligent, Lordly supporters gave into their hatred by spitting in her direction. The faces of those Ruttigers, Crakehalls, Swyfts, and Sarsfields were all burned into the girl's mind. They would die for such repugnance, Lilith promised in her mind, they would burn in the seventh hell. The more intelligent Westerland Lords simply watched with intrigued expressions. Warily observing this political powerhouse who managed to foil most of Tywin Lannister's plans with her vast array of incredible talents. Then there were those few south-eastern Riverlords present who seemed incredibly dismayed to see her kneeling beneath them. Perhaps the sight of Jason Mallister's powerful granddaughter in such a position only further reinforced that the Lannisters had won.

"Imagine my surprise," Kevan Lannister jabbed emotionlessly, "At stopping by Riverrun on my journey home only to hear the most pleasing news. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne, insurgent sorceress, final descendant from two bloodlines of filthy repute. Our prisoner at last." He stood with both arms propped against the highly-polished table. "If Tywin were here, Daven," The man sneered down coldly, "He would toss this whore to the soldiers outside. To do exactly what she was made for." Most of the Riverlords were unable to keep from bristling at even the suggestion of such an atrocity being committed against Robb Stark's most trusted advisor. "Then he would realize how much potential there was for an accident to occur." He continued when the bearded Lannister next to him, Daven, started to eye her like a piece of meat in response to that threat. "We cannot have one of our men accidentally knocking that gag out of place. Or she will surely wreak much destruction with her black magic."

Repulsed hisses came from Lords Sarsfield and Crakehall as they crossed their bodies with the sign of the Seven. "I imagine she will simply have to be taken back to Casterly Rock. Perhaps Tywin shall enjoy having Ellyn Reyne's granddaughter for a plaything." A mocking chuckle rumbled through Daven's chest as he stroked his beard and stared downwards contemplatively. Waving a hand dismissively Tywin Lannister's brother motioned for the five guards to drag her back out, yet none of them moved. Green eyes blazing in response he sneered, "Take her away. How did such imbeciles manage to capture the witch of Tarbeck-Reyne?" The moment he said it Kevan Lannister's face froze in horrified realization.

He began to scream for help from outside as the 'Lannister' soldier closest behind Lilith freed her of the gag. "Do you truly believe five men could have captured me?" She chortled derisively in Kevan's direction. "Guese rojin," The witch smiled as Daven Lannister's withdrawal of his blade was halted by the mound of earth that encased him to the neck. All but the Riverlords were now trapped beneath her control. A sigh of relief flooded Lilith's chest as her only remaining guard, for the rest fled outside to hold off any forces drawn by the scream, removed the chains. "Gather whatever men you have brought," She smiled at the Riverland Lords, "It is time for this siege to be broken."

All of them acquiesced to her demands with invigorated cries of agreement. Flowing outside behind her as she swiped any Lannister soldiers away with several words. In under an hour the Lannister army surrendered. Given that they were completely leaderless, as well as facing the witch of Tarbeck-Reyne, the decision was hardly surprising. "I want these men stripped of their weapons," Lilith directed to Lord Lymond Goodbrook and the heir of House Smallwood, "Assemble a force of fifteen-hundred Tully soldiers to escort them back to the Westerlands. My fellow countrymen will not be slain if I can avoid it." Furthermore, the tale of her mercy would spread throughout the Westerlands. People would be far more willing to support a gracious leader than remaining fearful of Tywin Lannister. Continuing she nodded mostly to herself, "Make certain to strand them well north of Golden Tooth though. For I want you both to break the siege there as well."

They nodded obediently prior to dashing off in the directions of their very convoluted task. Lilith wondered how she ever managed to become so influential in the Northern Rebellion that any men would take her orders so seriously. "My Lady," A Vance of Atranta approached, "We have captured Ryman Frey and his son Edwyn." The girl smiled nastily in the direction of the two, weasel-faced captives. "What will you have us do with the captive Frey forces?" Another Lord asked, "They number nearly two-thousand."

"Dispose of Lord Ryman's son. Then lock him in Riverrun's dungeons with whatever remains are left." At this the chained Freys were dragged off to their miserable fates, screaming the whole way. "Any soldiers bearing the sigils of the Twins are to be dispatched swiftly. The remaining forces from Houses Erenford, Charlton, and Haigh will be spared." With a grim face the second Lord also left to fulfill his duties. Most of the men within hearing distance seemed to agree with that final decision. Perhaps House Frey needed to be set aflame, but it would hardly do to completely destroy all their strength. Lilith herself was a testament to the fact that powerful figures could emerge from what was once ash. Stepping about the camp in stained trousers she smiled to see the Westerland Lords who had been captured being led to Riverrun.

The drawbridge was lowered allowing hordes of eager Tully men to leave the stronghold for the first time in months. Someone must have closed the sluices too, for the moat was rapidly draining of water. So many plots whirled about through the witch's mind, as she found herself standing in a stronger position than even before the Red Wedding. Two more Lannisters hostage, Robb Stark taking a small longboat with a host of guards to Seagard, and Riverrun was no longer besieged. "Never thought I would see the likes of you again," The Blackfish grinned broadly as she entered Riverrun. By his side stood Lyra Mallister, now Tully, whose belly was already looking a bit swollen. The girl was a pretty thing with the Mallister look yet far from the great beauty that had been Laena. Still, Brynden Tully could have found himself stuck with a Frey like poor Edmure.

"Nothing can kill me," She remarked humoredly in response, "I am simply pleased to have learned that you managed to so skillfully preserved the Northern forces." Her gentle-hearted Mallister cousin left to oversee her increased household duties. Accordingly the conversation grew a bit more cynical and serious. "The Tyrell-Lannister alliance will still remain, despite the advantage gained by Robb Stark's and mine own resurrections." The Blackfish seemed incredibly surprised by the revelation that his King was still alive, going so far as to kiss her on both cheeks.

"He better make you his Queen once this war has been won," Ser Brynden snickered happily. "I knew that Cat was wrong about you all those months ago."

Lilith bristled just like she had when Robb suggested the same thing. An unexplainable feeling warned her that such a marriage was not fated to occur. "I will never marry him, nor will he me. We both shall rise greatly in station once the Iron Throne has toppled." She hid any sadness deep beneath her green gaze, far from sight. "He must do his duty to the Northern Realm, and I must unite the Westerlands beneath my paramountcy."

"I doubt the Lords you rescued at the Red Wedding and today, or even the smallfolk, would accept such a sacrifice. If you have not noticed, Lady Lilith, they all are completely beneath your thrall." The Blackfish warned as his last input on the topic. "Now we should focus our attentions on the many battles yet to come. Tywin Lannister will hardly waste a breath until the Tumblestone has been diverted across Riverrun's ruins." They now stood in his solar, and she noticed that he had been quite busy planning for any Lannister weakness to exploit. Entire tables were covered with battle plans. None of them would prove to be of any use, however, for Lilith managed to wipe the slate clean again.

"We must whittle out whatever poisonous weakness lingers from the Red Wedding." She declared while rearranging the army which previously lingered outside of Riverrun. "Our southernmost friends must return to refortify their homes immediately though. It will not do to lose half of our ground once Tywin Lannister begins to march again." Brynden nodded, reaching into the hall to snag a passing soldier by the shoulder. What followed was a brief summons of all the Riverlords currently in the keep. "Then we will be able to focus on the Freys. The Late Lord Frey has lost half of his force in this battle, another quarter was sent to secure the North from what I hear." Rearranging the board so it would reflect these changes she stared thoughtfully.

"We can crush them easy enough at the Twins," Ser Brynden hissed with vengeful glee, "Whatever is left from the surrender today will fall to our side." His blue eyes glimmered, "Then those ten-thousand men in the Neck will sweep down south. The Frey forces are so fragmented with these sieges that they will be ripe for the picking."

"We must deal with them swiftly," Lilith agreed, "For the Tyrells will march north at full might soon enough. Then we run the risk of the Boltons sending reinforcements south. If we do not handle this carefully they shall pinch us all inside of this region." Her hope was beginning to deflate, "Even with the Vale Lords to reinforce us as a last ditch effort there will be no hope if such were to occur." At a sudden realization her fingers tightened, "Why do we not have the Manderly's assist us? Lord Wyman has allegedly been building a fleet. A fleet that could carry some of his men down south."

"To King's Landing?" Ser Brynden questioned doubtfully.

"No," She answered shortly, "Even Stannis Baratheon failed miserably in the attempt. We might be able augment the impact of your nephew's mission. With those ships and those men we could take Casterly Rock, or maybe even Highgarden."

"Such a loss would contribute little to the field though. The Lannisters, or the Tyrells, would only lash out more fiercely in retaliation." The seasoned warrior warned sternly.

"But it would!" She pointed to the western side of the North. "The Manderlys could land off the Stony Shore. They could rally the Stark loyalists who are mostly condensed in that region. After coalescing such a force Maege Mormont would surely prove more than capable of beating the Boltons into a stalemate." Excitement colored Lilith's cheeks a deep red. Perhaps she was not the greatest battle strategist, but she knew how to optimize available resources. "We would not only launch a symbolic blow against either faction. This move would put us in a much stronger position. Leave enough men at each Riverland keep for the ensuing sieges, and take the rest temporarily to the North so the Boltons can be dealt with. Then the army can land again anywhere in Westeros."

"It is audacious. If this gambit fails it would mean the loss of everything we have gained," The Blackfish warned.

"Then make sure we do not have to make use of the Manderly fleet, Ser Brynden," She stared sternly at him. "Maneuver the Tyrells and Lannisters to their defeat on land, or my plan involving the Northern fleet will be our last hope." They both then spun about with very grim facial expressions to confront the arriving Riverlords. Lilith already imagining what she would write in her letter to Lord Manderly.

OOOO

Septa Mordane once told her as a tyke that women who promised their hearts to many men were something called whores. That they were the most undignified of women with souls as black as unlit coal. Yet Sansa's late Septa found herself headless, and many times over her words had been proven terribly wrong. The auburn-haired Stark was a hostage forced to swear an oath before the Seven that she would love Tyrion Lannister till death. Forced to share kisses with Ser Balon Swann in the darkest corners of King's Landing. Forced to lean in as Oberyn Martell whispered treasonous secrets in her ear, pressed dangerous notes into her delicate fingers. Three different men believed that they would receive her heart.

Sansa knew that she was no whore, however, despite Septa Mordane's naive definition. She was Ned Stark's, most likely, last surviving child. The North ran throughout her veins, and if need be she would fuck every man in King's Landing just to take Winterfell back. The ancestral seat of her forefathers was all that remained. So standing deep inside of the gardens while Ser Balon patrolled just nearby Sansa waited for Oberyn Martell to arrive. Her heart would have pounded with fear if she were not so inclined to dismiss Septa Mordane's damaging social conventions. Dornishmen were just as misunderstood as the Northerners, perhaps even more so. If Prince Oberyn were still inclined for such a proposal then they would show Westeros that they were just as worthy of respect.

"Lady Sansa," Came that thick, hot voice, sweeter than a fruit from the Reach, and still tougher than Valyrian Steel. He stepped lissomely into view beneath the moonlight clad in the usual clothing that sometimes caused her to blush. The man's sleek, black hair was constantly ruffled from hectic days spent on diplomatic errands, as well as nights spent in the brothels. Finally Sansa's betrothed neared enough to sweep into a courtly bow as he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her wrist. She was pulled gently to both feet as the Red Viper started to escort her towards the weirwood. "I have what is hopefully good news," He smiled reassuringly, "We will be leaving this shithole tomorrow."

A gleeful grin spread wide across Sansa's face. Her hand which was shielded gently in his larger one squeezed tight. Oberyn Martell already had eight daughters, so he must have been used to that particular pain though. "Your message was so urgent, my Prince," She breathed out while feeling light headed, "I assumed that there would be bad news." Namely, Sansa spent many a night preparing her already broken heart for the man to say that he could not marry her, after all.

Those shadowy eyes peered kindly upon her own, Tully-blue pair. "You have had been the undeserving victim of far too much bad news, Sansa," In the week and a half since they met he started to forego social conventions with remorseless abandon. No doubt because it left her reeling like a fish out of water, and Oberyn Martell loved poking holes in her armor-like courtesy. They both now stood deep inside the thicket of trees in front of the heartwood tree. He took a seat upon the thick roots while motioning for his betrothed to do the same. What would her mother think if she saw her daughter sitting in a shadowy wood with the Red Viper, Sansa pondered mentally. "When we have arrived in Dorne you will be under my protection. Anything you desire for will be yours. I will make you happy every day. When you wake that lovely smile shall cross your face, and when you go to sleep it shall still be there. I promise this to you, Sansa Stark."

Fondness blossomed through the Stark girl's heart as he spoke his kind words. Oberyn Martell seemed to see her as some sort of replacement for the former Princess Elia. A naive victim of Lannister cruelty that could be whisked away to safety. Sansa did not have the gall to correct his presumption. She might have been broken by the Lannisters, that much was certainly true. Yet Sansa was the rightful Queen to the North and Trident unlike Elia Martell. There would be no opportunity hide beneath Prince Oberyn's beloved Sunspear. If the Northmen and Riverlords were ever to respect her then she needed to possess an iron will. "Thank you, my Prince," Her voice would have quavered with emotion if she were not so habituated to hiding such things.

He briefly frowned at the courteous response prior to continuing on. "We must also discuss with more detail what will occur tomorrow." Leaning closer to whisper in her ear he reminded Sansa that this all was not just a dream. Tomorrow if all went accordingly then she would find herself on the next ship to Dorne. On a path in which she would finally find the justice honest, Ned Stark deserved.

OOOO

The red-haired whore was dangling off of Oberyn Martell's body like an ornament. Every guard took a moment to appreciate the sight of this cloth-faced beauty's barely clothed body. Some even remarked that this particular whore greatly resembled the Lady Sansa Stark with her willowy figure and auburn hair. Only for comrades departing from the late night post to assure that such a thing was not possible. For that exact whore was seen dancing into the Red Keep with the Red Viper several hours earlier. So they all allowed the handsome pair to sway towards freedom with jealous glares burning into the Dornish Prince's back.

"Almost there my Princess," Oberyn only seemed too happy to have this lovely girl clinging off of his body. They were dancing through the gates of the Red Keep into the streets of King's Landing. Sansa did not care that various merchants were at that moment enjoying the very generous bits of flesh she displayed to the world. The filthy sows could enjoy this final glimpse of her arse, for any lecherousness would be rewarded soon enough by tolling bells. When Ser Meryn Trant discovered that the woman inside of Sansa's chambers was nothing more than a Crownland whore. A broad sneer spread across the girl's beautiful face. So many times she had dreamt of fleeing from the stinking capital of Westeros. A ship would take her to Sunspear, then another ship would take her back North where she belonged.

Perhaps the cost of such freedom was a Dornish Prince, yet she hardly cared. Oberyn Martell was handsome, deadly, kind, and came with an army. Even if those benefits were not enough Sansa already found that her heart was starting to grow fond of him. The savior prince she used to dream of, finally arrived to spirit her away from the Lannister's. "Now we must run," Oberyn prodded her back, "If there are any spies on the port then Tywin Lannister will know shortly of our departure." Gasping for breath the long-legged girl dashed alongside her betrothed with a pounding heart. Soon enough they stood on the deck of a graceful ship. Most of Oberyn's troupe of revellers were either already hiding below deck, or had slipped secretly away for Dorne in previous days.

Nothing was left behind as the ship treaded gently onto the Narrow Sea. Nothing except for ringing bells and awful memories. "I cannot believe they noticed my absence so swiftly," Sansa whispered with surprise as they looked up at the Red Keep. The silky face covering fluttered away into the wind after she removed it.

A cloak was wrapped around both of the beautiful girl's shoulders to cover any flesh that was still exposed. "I took a souvenir from Gregor Clegane," Muscular arms were wrapped around Sansa's waist leaving her pinned against the railing. Oberyn's exotic voice whispered into her ear, "They will not notice you have dissapeared for a while longer in the chaos. Not until we are too far away for them to do anything. Red hair fluttering beautifully in the sea breeze she allowed herself to take some comfort in her betrothed's protective clutch.

"I think I could fall in love with you, Oberyn Martell," Sansa Stark smiled bittersweetly against his semi-bare chest. Dreaming of a splendid wedding at a Godswood with all the Northern bannermen in attendance. A move that would make her a Queen, and avenge her brother's brutal death.

OOOO

A week passed over Riverrun before any notable news arrived at Lilith's ears. Walder Frey seemed to realize just how precarious the situation was as he recalled all of his remaining southern, one-thousand troops. With that particular threat now confined to the northern Riverlands a major obstacle was removed from Lilith's board of strategy. Likewise, any Lannister men posted at the various sieges were battled back into the Westerlands thanks to the Blackfish's brilliant tactics. To a region that would soon fall into extreme turbulence when Robb Stark shattered the coastal strongholds. An imminent reality given that the newly crafted Mallister fleet was spotted leaving Seagard by Tully scouts.

Pleased that the Lannisters would have no idea until everything was too late, given their sudden lack of presence, Lilith simply focused south-east. Unsurprisingly the Tyrells were beginning to gather strength to launch an offensive front northwards at the liberated, Pinkmaiden Castle. What remained of Tywin Lannister's bannermen in the southeast were also coalescing at Darry, which was now ruled by Lancel Lannister. No doubt a fourth battle would ensue once again near Harrenhal. "My Lady," Ser Crook announced, causing her heart to swell fondly for the thousandth time. It had pleased the witch immeasurably to be reunited with her most loyal servant. Behind him stood a strange, travel-worn Maester wearing a Valyrian steel mask and chain. The odd man was allowed to enter while Ser Crook closed the door behind him, having grown used to his Lady facing off against such strange characters.

"I have travelled far to visit you, my dearest Maegi," He chuckled revealing red-stained teeth through the rather terrifying object hiding his features. The Maester sat when proffered a chair. "The first reputable witch Westeros has ever produced. Fearsome champion of Robb Stark's Rebellion. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne." His voice grew into a hissing chuckle, so dark that Lilith felt invisible fingers dragging along her spine.

"You know much of me, but I little of you," She smiled engagingly with a tilted head, glass of sour wine clutched elegantly in hand. "How is it that a stranger wearing a mask of Valyrian Steel could gain entry to such a fortress as Riverrun. Even managing to get himself an audience with myself?"

A scarred hand twisted with loose dismission in her baffled direction, "You are not the only one with magic, Lady Lilith. I am certain Maggy the Frog has trained you well enough to speculate some of the ways in which I managed to penetrate Riverrun's defenses." Even more surprised at his knowledge of Maggy the girl opened her mouth to ask a question prior to being cut off sharply. "We have more pressing affairs to contemplate, my Lady. I have travelled the whole, wide world in my many years on this earth. You happen to be the one of the strongest Maegi that I have ever encountered, or even heard of. The power practically radiates from your body." At this point he inhaled deeply with an indulgent sigh.

"Why should I care what you think?" Lilith objected querily.

"Because at this moment unspeakably strong forces plot your demise, or intend to use you as their puppet. Entities that you are hardly prepared to face with naught but a few dusty grimoires and Lady Frog at hand." Onyx eyes glittered speculatively into her emerald pair. "I have a world's worth of knowledge to lend. You have already proven yourself to be the most worthy apprentice I could ever find. If Westeros has not already bent beneath your will, Lady Tarbeck-Reyne, then it certainly shall after the formation of our alliance."

"Again," She set the glass upon the table with a sharp clack, "Why should I indebt my cause to your unknown intentions. What do you want from me, and do be honest."

He paused for a very long second, gaze flickering about wildly with something that seemed awfully akin to fear. "Violet eyes," Lilith froze violently at those two words, "Visited my dreams several moons ago. They whispered many things, both terrible and great, a prophecy if you may."

Horrible tremors rattled through the witch's body as she sneered at him. "Tell. Me." Lilith threw the wine glass at an adjacent wall with a rush of sudden, uncontrollable, vitriolic rage. Standing so sharply to both of her feet that the chair slammed back against the stone floor. _He_ flashed through her mind like a horrible memory come back to life. Dancing beneath _his_ beautiful, lilac gaze. Completely powerless beneath the muscular, Valyrian man who often plagued her worst nightmares. Who imparted so much pain in her most recent afterlife without speaking a single word.

"You have caught the interest of a powerful deity, my Lady. Do not say I did not provide fair warning, this prophecy is not to be taken lightly." With a voice that rang sternly he began, "The sheltered Lioness shall one day grow...So powerful, wise, and beautiful that none shall be able to take her crown…Three lovers shall come under her sway…The one spurned, the covetous puppetmaster, and the Lion locked far away…With triumph on the tip of her tongue…Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne shall lose all sense of herself…And old Balerion shall be bound to perilous strength in flesh and blood…A hunter of blades...Kept safe in the Wolf Maiden's arms..." He reached forth to grasp her hand in his own, "I have seen this monstrosity at its greatest might, and your fates are tied close together. Only my tutelage will enable you to rival such an unstoppable force."

She took him seriously now, this eccentric Maester clad in a Valyrian Steel mask. Anyone who could also see the purple-eyed deity when they went to sleep was worth listening to. "Tell me what your motivations are right this instant, and then maybe I will agree," Her frosty voice left no room for negotiation.

"There comes a time when my beloved Oldtown will need a savior. You will serve in such a capacity with the aid of my teaching." That ambiguous response was not the end, "Understand that all inhibitions must be left behind. To progress where others have never even contemplated going there must be nothing holding you back, my Lady."

Feeling herself grow colder with each breath Lilith nodded shortly. "We will discuss this over dinner, with Maggy," The old Maege would know more than she about this Maester's exploits. Having such a knowledgeable guide present would prevent Lilith from being potentially swindled. "For the meantime Ser Crook will assist you in finding quarters to rest in." With that dismissal she turned to stare at her board of sigils again, only looking up when he left. Stepping firmly into the sunlight so that dark, purple eyes could not haunt her mind once again.

OOOO

Robb scratched Greywind between the ears with a light smile. The Direwolf did not seem to like ships at all. Blue gaze turning somber again he leant against the wooden railing with folded arms while staring into the dark sea. "Thinking of my granddaughter, your grace?" Jason Mallister wore armor befitting of the Mallister Lord. After Patrek's near capture at the Twins the old Lord decided to leave his son at Seagard. Nearly every other Riverlord seemed to be doing the same thing, as it was no longer worth the risk to jeopardize the futures of their Houses. The young King found himself uncomfortable speaking of his affections for Lilith with her grandfather.

"Aye," He smiled somewhat mournfully, "I find that no matter how hard I try it is impossible to not think of your Lady granddaughter." They remained in silence for a moment while peering up through the early morning clouds for what would be the first of many obstacles. "During our time together at the Butterwell Keep I asked her to wed me. To become my Queen."

"I am unsurprised she said no," The Lord of Seagard chuckled causing Robb to look over at him sharply. "Do not take my jest as an insult, my King. I simply understand my granddaughter better than most ever would. Mallister blood runs strong through that girl's veins. She understands that there is a duty to both of her own Houses as well as mine. You may be a King, but Lilith will rise until she is above the rest. Marriage is the best method of expanding power, as you well know." Robb nodded along with his words, for that was exactly what she had told him. That he was her love, yet a man like Willas Tyrell would be her duty.

"Do you really believe this plan is possible?" He asked the older man to change the topic, "That we can crush Tywin Lannister's naval defenses?" Immediately after he said it the clouds parted to reveal Banefort in all of its gruesome glory.

"We must, King Stark," Jason Mallister nodded grimly, "For I suspect we have already arrived." He spun sharply, yelling for their ship's underlings to begin preparing the pitch. Robb still wondered how the Lord managed to craft nearly fifty warships in only several month's time. Nonetheless he continued to stare across the Ironman's Bay at where the naval fortress towered. The young man knew that he was completely out of his depth, as this strayed far from the usual battles on land. Hopefully Lord Mallister would prove capable of commanding a fleet in battle, for Robb would certainly be of no use.

Bells started to ring above, torches flickered into existence painting the mountainous peninsula a bright orange. In the harbor, he observed, many men were lining up to fill the Banefort ships, a collection which was only a bit smaller than the Mallister fleet. Soon enough they were floating towards one another as fast as the wind allowed. Drawing his sword Robb prepared himself for the two masses of ships to finally collide. Behind him the six-thousand strong army of Stark and Tully forces did the same. Closing both eyes Robb Stark listened until there was a crash marked by the eruption of fearsome screams. He charged forth on a board of wobbly wood with Greywind close behind, though his mind was from the battle.

Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's green eyes propelled him on.

OOOO

Next Chapter: Valyrian Poetry and Important Letters.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fourteen: Valyrian Poetry and Important Letters

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

The greatsword almost split Robb in half yet he did not yield to the vicious attack. Pinning the monstrously large Westerlander against a mast pole by ramming a dagger into his shoulder. Greywind pounced forth to finish the dangerous foe off while the King of the North helped to drive off whatever other soldiers still battled atop the blood-slickened ship. Panting when the deed was finally accomplished he motioned for all unneeded forces to liberate any other ships. Before realizing that the threat was completely neutralized. Blood pumping the young man stared up at the now defeated castle with blindingly triumphant eyes. Several hours passed in that glorious haze of victory as the Stark-Tully host waited for the fortress to fall. Inevitably Jason Mallister returned with good news.

"Lord Farman and his children have been captured," The gruff Lord grinned broadly while limping towards the King. "More importantly," His grey eyes fluttered momentarily up to the Greyjoy mast fluttering in the wind, "The ravens were all slaughtered." A rush of relieved excitement visibly flooded through Robb's very tense body at that news. What was perhaps the cleverest idea to have ever struck his head was paying off immensely. With a pile of ratty old Greyjoy banners buried in the bottom of Seagard they were pulling one of the biggest tricks Westeros had ever seen. Both Banefort and Faircastle had now fallen to the 'Greyjoys', and Tywin Lannister lacked any inkling of Robb's involvement.

"How full were the coffers?" The King asked while moving to lean against the railing of his ship. He noticed a large party moving down the hilly island towards where the fleet of ships were docked. No doubt Lord Farman was being welcomed into the prisoner's quarters alongside Lord Banefort's family.

"They are being emptied as we speak though I estimate at least one-million dragons will be collected. Fairisle is close enough to Lannisport for a rich surplus of trade. The granaries were only partially filled, yet there will be more gained from this venture than at Banefort." Robb could not even vocalize his next thoughts until Lilith's cunning grandfather was already speaking them. "Ten out of seventeen warships were salvaged, along with twelve longships," Grey eyes glimmered, "We now have sixty-five war ships at our command."

"At least the men will no longer have to cram together in such small spaces," Robb remarked with a happy tone. Good news at last. "Why don't you wed Lord Farman's eldest daughter to Patrek? As a reward for all of your services to my House?"

Lord Jason simply laughed at such a suggestion. "There is a little-known, Farman cousin sailing some sea in Essos right now. He has certainly been willed to inherit already." A hand patted Robb reassuringly on the back, "Do not worry over such things, my King, I fear you are not so dab a hand at marriage arrangements as my granddaughter has proven. Besides, I already have planned out who Patrek shall marry." At the, no doubt, inquisitive look in the younger man's blue eyes Jason Mallister chuckled, "Clearly I cannot have any secrets these days. My son's responsibility is to revitalizing the Riverlands, not claiming some small sliver of the Westerland's." There was a pause, "I strongly suspect that when she is recovered from Randyll Tarly, Lord Mooton's daughter will make an excellent match. Not only would that tether Maidenpool back beneath Riverrun, but put a capable, Mallister-bred heir in the southeast." There was a far away look in the older man's eyes as he stared out in the direction of the Sunset Sea. Lilith often got such a look, Robb recalled, when she was imagining and plotting great political maneuvers.

"Whom would you have my uncle Edmure wed to? Once he is retrieved safely from the Twins." The King chose to lean on this intelligent man for counsel. That particular matter had been eating him alive since they first pushed off from Seagard, and Lilith was hardly around to ask for guidance. "Roslin Frey will only remain his wife so long as it takes for a Frey-Tully heir to be born. Then I intend to have her sent to join the Silent Sister's with the rest of her female kin." He felt the breeze ruffle his black locks at this declaration. "Edmure will hardly take it upon himself to wed anyone after what occurred."

Speculation entered Lord Mallister's creased face, as he seemed to realize how much influence was being placed in his hands. An opportunity to dictate the future of House Tully was quite a blessing. "I respect the Tullys deeply, King Robb, yet Hoster as well as his father before him have led the House into near-ruin. They have proven headstrong, and far too prideful for their own good." There was a pause, "Jonos Bracken must be executed for his disloyalty following the Red Wedding. I heard reports of his treasonous shift in loyalty to the Lannisters. Have him executed, set aside Roslin Frey, and have Lord Edmure wed Barbara Bracken." As always there was a thoughtful moment between the conveyance of any ideas. "Then legitimize Harry Rivers as a Bracken, and broker a marriage with one of Lord Blackwood's daughters. Likewise, his heir will marry the second of Jonos' daughters."

"That would end the blood feud between the Brackens and Blackwoods, I suppose," Robb answered with a speculative grin, "We could even allocate a temporary regency to Tytos Blackwood."

"Aye, that would prove only the first of many steps towards unifying House Tully with their southeastern vassals. A move that should have been made immediately after Aegon gifted them the paramountcy." He moved tactfully on to his next plot swiftly, "Then I imagine you have no doubt heard of Ermesande Hayford? The infant Lady of Hayford Castle?" When Robb nodded slowly in response Mallister finally continued. "She will become a ward of Riverrun after King's Landing has been taken. Then Edmure's heir shall be able to add to the Riverland territory, with a bride of suitable age at his side." The King froze for a moment at what just occurred. In mere moments Jason Mallister managed to determine the future political unions of House Tully's next two generations. His legacy would undoubtedly live on at least a century after death as a result.

An appreciative nod was Robb's form of approval as they found themselves interrupted by a Mallister Knight clutching many crumpled papers. "News, my King, found in Lord Farman's solar," He gasped out, most certainly having run at top speed to deliver what must have been an incredible bit of information. "Nearly all of the sieges have been lifted in the Riverlands. Lady Tarbeck-Reyne has returned and is spearheading an organized defense against the Lannisters and Tyrells." Taking a deep gulp of air, "The ten-thousand men previously trapped in the Neck have marched south to besiege the Twins." Lord Mallister snatched up the papers to stare semi-disbelievingly at them as the knight continued to speak. "Wyman Manderly has withdrawn completely back into the Hornwood and Manderly lands. The Boltons have convinced the Umber cousins lording over Last Hearth to openly enter their coalition with the Karstarks and Freys."

That last bit was spoken with a sorrowful tone, yet Robb did not have it in him to care. So long as his Lady mother was safe and the Manderlys were staving off the Boltons then nothing else mattered. Joy surged through his chest, however, at the revelation that Lilith did indeed manage to free Riverrun. Now the Freys were almost decimated south of the Neck, the Lannister grip over House Tully shattered, and even more Lannister hostages now rotted in the dungeons where they belonged. "We should begin setting sail, Lord Mallister," The King of the North and Trident hissed victoriously, "It is time for Feastfires to fall next. If I am not mistaken."

OOOO

Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was stalking lithely outside of his cell when he awoke once again in piles of filth. 'A true lioness,' He thought snidely, observing how her hair shined golden as sunlight beneath the flickering torches. "I feared that you were dead," Jaime commented with a taunting tone, "Until news reached my ears that the second Siege of Riverrun had been broken! Now the Northern army prepares to rear its glorious head for vengeance once more!"

She halted at his words. Pressing against the bars while peering inside to stare at him. Not a single breath seemed to escape her lips in that moment, and Jaime found his ribs were constricting most unpleasantly as a result. A reluctant part of him could not help but admire the great beauty of Tarbeck-Reyne. This young woman seemed to be every bit as lovely as Cersei had been at a similar age. Golden as the Westerland sun, taller than most men, blessed with a voluptuous form, and distinctly marked by haughty, prominent features. Yet those eyes seemed to set the witch ten paces ahead of his sister's legendary looks. Green with kindness rather than cunning cruelty. He found himself grow further intrigued with each passing second at the character of this ethereal creature. Allegedly raised by peasants in the fields of Sarsfield beneath his dangerous father's nose.

"I can look through time and space at all present happenings, Ser Jaime," Her chin jutted defiantly at the spot where he wallowed in excrement. "Everything that happens in King's Landing. Not a single political move, ambitious plot, or grasp for power escapes my notice." Here the pretty heir of House Reyne continued to strut with delicate grace like a lion again. Fingers flicking with dizzying twists against the bars. "I see your father screaming in rage at my return to strength. I see your psychotic, bastard son, Joffrey Rivers growing ensnared by Margaery Tyrell. I see your beloved sister spread her legs for a great many lovers in your absence."

The last barb stung deeper than the witch could have ever known, or perhaps she did. Knowing that Cersei was being unfaithful to him, as he rotted away in a dungeon for their children. "What do you want from me?" He finally ground out, no longer attempting to mock the chit. Her demeanor was of impenetrable steel, impressively tough as his father's own, so there seemed to be little point in baiting a reaction. "I have no interest in the Westerlands. My children never have, nor will they ever, truly been mine own. Cersei is a faithless whore." He shifted restlessly in the mass of chains which restricted his every movement. "What do I possibly have that could inspire you to slither down from your arrogant perch to sneer at me. YOU VENOMOUS BITCH!"

With a flick of her wrist and a few foreign words the Golden Lion of Lannister found his mouth clamped tightly shut. Lissome movements marked her effortless entry into Jaime's previously locked cell. The man's jaw tightened furiously as she bent before him, gorgeous gown of purple and silver just nearly touching his puddle of muck. "When your despicable father is dead, your whore of a sister is dead, your Imp brother is dead, and your bastard son is dead, you will be all that remains. A handsome, if not slightly broken, relic from those days when the Lannisters lorded like tyrants over these lands."

At this point her delicately shaped, yet calloused hands reached upwards to stroke what flesh was not covered by a grimy beard. "I intend to wed you after this war has been won. To claim the Westerlands entirely for myself, and turn Tywin Lannister's beloved son into my concubine." Those eyes were no longer filled with kindness, only an empty sort of loss. "Perhaps this shall be what ends the blood feud between our Houses. You will lose your entire bloodline, watch as your lands are claimed by others, and find yourself no better than a defenseless peasant." Claws dug tight into Jaime's scalp though he found himself far beyond wincing at such miniscule pains. He was at that moment completely captivated by Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's beautiful face. "Worst of all," Her own voice grew taunting to further emphasize how the tables had changed, "I intend to collect your heart as a trophy."

Standing to her elegant height once more the revolutionary swept with a lively gait from the cell. Jaime felt his jaw loosen only for a perturbed frown to cross both chapped lips. Contemplating every last word as they all seemed to practically pound against the walls of his head.

OOOO

"Send a group of well-armed soldiers to the dungeons with a tub of hot water and soap," Lilith told one of the men in her small retinue of guards. The Riverlords, having been given no information regarding Robb Stark's resurrection, saw her as their last opportunity to defeat Tywin Lannister. Hence, a band of skilled knights were all but forcibly assigned beneath Ser Crook's charge to guard the witch of Tarbeck-Reyne. "I want them to bathe Jaime Lannister, and muck out his cell. They are under no circumstances to harm him, as he is our most valuable hostage." Though the man seemed uncertain of showing any kindness to the Kingslayer he did as bidden. "You," Lilith spun to another knight, "Will escort Lord Karstark from the dungeons to meet with me in my chambers. Do not remove his chains."

Waving for the rest to remain outside she stepped into what was originally Lord Hoster's solar. Gifted to her by the Blackfish as he refused to even appear as though having any fixations of infringing on Edmure's rightful inheritance. Standing inside of the massive chamber was Maester Marwyn, as the masked man claimed to be called, and Maggy the Frog. The bickering pair spent most minutes of the day poring over the other's respective collection of magical knowledge. Each one seemed quite envious of the opposing compendium which meant there were a lot of arguments for Lilith to douse. Despite the stress involved with this fragile operation the young Maegi was learning at least a new spell everyday.

Glamours could now be accomplished with a commanding snap after Marwyn's books were examined in conjunction with Maggy's archaic grimoires. Common wounds inflicted during battle grew increasingly easier for Lilith to mend with every bit of practice. Now, as though advancing with the previous two were not enough, she was about to undertake what seemed a massive landmark. Compulsions. Maester Marwyn claimed that with a few words and flick of the fingers the minds of men could be manipulated with magic. Not controlled persay, but weakened so greatly that subjugation was only a mere step away. "How are your attempts at the Kingslayer's heart turning out, my Lady?" Marwyn asked with unveiled interest as she reclined into Hoster Tully's high-backed seat.

"Well enough," Lilith never allowed her composure to slip with the man. He might have brought a fascinating array of knowledge to the table, yet his motivations were still a tad bit questionable. "I trust that I am at least capable of twisting a man's heart beneath my will. You needn't concern yourself with such things, Maester."

Maggy chose to interject snidely, "If either of us is needed it would be me. What would your fancy, little books know about love spells?" Of course, another childish argument ensued. Prior to dissipating away into a frosty silence.

Rolling both, green eyes Lilith reclined in the seat while flicking absentmindedly through her papers. Looking up only when a filthy man bound in chains was brought into the solar. Lord Rickard Karstark looked very much the worse for wear, even worse than Jaime Lannister did, as a matter of fact. He allowed himself to be plopped into the wooden seat across from Lilith without a single word of protest. Interlacing both sets of fingers she stared at him, "I am pleased to see you, Lord Karstark." Waving for the two knights to remove his chains she tossed a pile of raven letters across the table. With shaky, muddy fingers the Lord of Karhold started to fumble at the scrolled pieces of parchment. "No doubt you are aware of the Red Wedding," She declared as he read, "But I am nearly certain word has not reached your cell of politics in the North yet."

"My…" He paused for a painfully long moment, "My brother has claimed Karhold for himself and intends to wed his son Cregan to my daughter Alys." Looking as though he were about to faint the Lord swayed in the seat. "They have sworn fealty to the Boltons."

"Yes," The witch nodded, "A claim which stands only so long as your son is imprisoned in Maidenpool, and you remain in Riverrun." Here Lilith attempted to lay the foundation of her first Compulsion. Humming lightly in her throat as she stroked the bottom of the desk with firm, circular motions. "Set aside your thirst for vengeance against Jaime Lannister, and I will give you an opportunity to reclaim your home."

"What are you proposing?" He asked warily, though Lilith could have sworn there was less of an edge contained within the look thanks to her Compulsion.

"Most of the Northern forces are condensed around the Neck laying siege to the Twins. However, there are pockets of Stark loyalists either hidden farther south than that, at least several thousand," Here she smiled winningly. "You will ask publicly for my pardon, before all of our Lords. Then I will have you, the last Northern Lord of commanding title in the southern Riverlands, rally these forces." A fist slammed down forcefully upon the table preceding her next words, demonstrating that Lord Rickard was completely beneath her thrall. Those dark eyes were cloudy, and obviously malleable beneath the manipulative ministrations of her tongue. He no longer seemed to be under the influence of rage for the loss of his heirs.

Now the Lord of Karhold could be directed to a better fate than rotting away in Riverrun's dungeons. "Ser Brynden and I have planned to face the approaching Lannister and Tyrell forces by splitting the military into three regiments. He will lead one, of six-thousand Tully men to harangue the Tyrells all the way to the Stoney Sept. You will lead the second up to Golden Tooth, and march south with a supplement of Tully, Lefford, and Yarwick men. Toppling Deep Den, and striking out at fortresses left unguarded in the northernmost region of the Reach. If we take Goldengrove then the Tyrells will learn the hard way that we are a threat to be taken seriously." She felt nervous telling a man of battle plans. Such was unprecedented, and emphasized just how powerful her position happened to be. The prospect of being one of the most influential women to have ever lived was both an exhilarating and terrifying prospect.

"What about the third regiment?" Karstark asked in a hazy, unfocused sort of way.

Here Lilith gulped at the words about to pour from her throat, yet tried to lace them with steel. "I will be leading a host of men to face Tywin Lannister in battle. If he can be crushed then the Tyrells will fall back, and we all will be saved." Wrenching her focus away from that nerve wracking prospect she stared at him. "Can I count on you, Lord Rickard?" She practically felt the magic pour through her voice with each hum that rattled her chest. "Will you help me crush our enemies? Will you save your son Harrion, and deliver Karhold from damnation?"

Even beneath the Compulsion it was clear that Rickard Karstark struggled mightily to accept what she was asking of him. To set aside his resentment of the Starks, as well as possible revenge against Jaime Lannister, so that a cause greater than his own desires could triumph. "Aye," He affirmed grimly, "You can count on me."

OOOO

Sansa Stark found herself listening to the clicking, grinding gears of the strange device which sat in Doran Martell's solar. Only ever before could she recall having seen clock towers, so it was strange to see such a small timekeeping device. To listen as it ticked away the seconds, like drops of Stark blood. Father, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, and Lady's deaths all went unavenged even longer with each clicking tock. A smooth hand reached upwards across her thigh at that precise moment to tighten reassuringly around the girl's own pair of trembling fingers. Over the course of their journey to Sunspear Sansa's betrothed grew increasingly fond of taking what little liberties he could from her. Admiring sniffs of her blazing locks, chaste kisses to the lips, and intimate embraces in public. This was one of the least scandalous of his attentions, so the beauty allowed herself to squeeze back. Blue eyes flicking up to meet his brown ones. "Everything will be fine, my brother is a reasonable man," Though even Oberyn seemed to doubt himself.

Sansa imagined that 'reasonable' men were the sort like Tywin Lannister, or even Tyrion. Tenacious, diplomatic, individuals who thought everything over with their shrewd intelligence. Not the sort to give much heed, nor support, to causes entrenched deep with the pit of passion. The opening of a door prompted her to stand alongside Oberyn though Sansa did not bend into a curtsey. She was the heir to the Kings of Winter, daughter to the heir of Riverrun, and betrothed to the Red Viper of Dorne. Doran Martell would never receive such a show of weak will unless it was in exchange for an army of Dornish spears.

He looked like the sort who was used to being denied respect. Pushed in on a chair with wheels by a muscular guard. Sansa felt sorrow at the sight of that innovative contraption. Perhaps Bran might have enjoyed having such an easier mode of transportation after his unfortunate fall. Shrewd eyes peered deep into Sansa's own blue pair. "I hope this was worthwhile, Oberyn," The Prince of Dorne sighed while being moved into his high-backed seat, "We had a plan. Many plans agreed upon."

"Our plans were far less important than the assistance I found myself obliged to provide to Princess Sansa," Oberyn lashed back. Sansa felt a bittersweet thrill rush through her at being styled as such, for it was what she always wanted come at an extreme cost. "She was beaten by the Kingsguard, forced to witness her father's beheading, threatened by the little butcher with rape, and forcibly married to a Lannister. I could not allow this sweet, kind hearted girl, so alike to Elia, to be brutalized by King's Landing." A venomous smile spread across her betrothed's handsome face, twisting it in a savage sort of way. "So be it if this girl is also the rightful Queen of the North and Trident," Oberyn grasped at her nervous hand again, "And she lusts for vengeance as much as we do."

That ticking clock started to dominate the silence once again, as Doran simply rubbed his temples in deep thought. Finally the Prince spoke, "Marry this girl, if you so desire. Take the Stark name as only a second son might, and help her reclaim Winterfell." Only when Oberyn puffed with joy did his brother finish speaking. "But do so without the Dornish army. For I do not have a single spear to allocate towards such a reckless pursuit." He turned to stare up at her again, "You are welcome in Sunspear. We might as well even host a welcoming ceremony tomorrow given that the Lannisters know where you have gone. Yet do not take my kind offer of shelter as indicative of anything more than basic obligation to a goodsister."

Sansa simply nodded her head while receding deep into the protective confines of her courtesy. "Thank you for your generosity, Prince Doran," Her voice was completely emotionless, "I imagine I should rest before being officially welcomed into Sunspear." He simply motioned for Oberyn to leave in response, with her closely in tow.

The doors slammed shut behind them, yet her betrothed raised a finger to his lips to indicate that no discussion should take place. Though the girl surmised easily enough that Doran Martell no doubt had spies all along the Tower of the Sun. So biting her tongue she slipped gracefully alongside Oberyn to a pair of spacious, yet undecorated chambers. Peering through the balcony Sansa admired how the golden sunlight flashed across the Narrow Sea. Skilled fingers, far too dexterous, rubbed at the young Lady's shoulders without warning. Despite her surprise Sansa allowed herself to fall against the Red Viper's hard embrace. "I thought you would enjoy filling these chambers," That watery accent left Sansa reeling, as her body loosened beneath his ministrations, "House Martell's coffers are open for use."

Smiling lightly she forced her body to slink forth away from his own. Men wanted what they could not have, and for matters of security Sansa needed him to want her terribly. Reaching up to unwind the braid pinned to the top of her head the beauty allowed the crimson mane of hair to flap back in the breezy, golden sunlight. "You expected your bother to deny me assistance," She did not ask it as a question, "Given that he admitted to having _so_ many other plots." Spinning back around Sansa Stark squared off against her kind, handsome betrothed. Deciding that if Cersei was strong enough to handle Robert Baratheon, she herself was capable enough of dealing with Oberyn Martell.

"I never anticipated that he would willingly support our plans," The Red Viper answered honestly, surprising her. "Of course," He whispered, stalking forth lithely, "I never anticipated on needing my brother's support to gather troops." At this those blue eyes widened to epic proportions. "Doran wants to, and always has wanted, to prop Daenerys Targaryen as the Queen of Westeros. Now especially, with her dragons, Unsullied, and sellsword companies he anticipates that she is the party to bet on."

"But you do not?" Sansa queried as though not believing her own ears.

"Neither do you," He snorted somewhat derisively, "That Targaryen girl knows nothing of Westeros. She even has the gall to think that with a few dragons this continent can be conquered again." Fingers stretching out to tip up her chin he smiled wickedly, "I think you would do a much better job. No, I think you were born for such a position as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Heir to the North, daughter of Catelyn Tully, cousin to Jon Arryn, betrothed of Oberyn Martell." A thoughtful look flashed across his face, "From what I hear, that Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne is still as powerful as ever. If she managed to triumph we could even add the Westerlands to our list of loyal territories."

"I do not want King's Landing though," Sansa protested, "All I want is Winterfell, Riverrun, the keeps and lands of my ancestors."

"Your brother's biggest mistake was not claiming enough," Oberyn rebutted easily enough, "When the Riverlands crowned him King of the Trident he should have taken the Iron Throne. Not tried to claim a region bordered by four hostile, greedy kingdoms." His hands curled possessively into her thick waves of hair, "Are you serious about reclaiming what was stolen from your bloodline?"

Deep down Sansa knew he was right, but something seemed off. Here she stood planning to claim the whole of Westeros for a vengeful House Stark. When more than two months prior the dreams showed her with nothing more than Moat Cailin. Not allowing her hopes to grow around the prospect of becoming Queen, the Stark stared defiantly into those brown eyes, trying to follow in the steps of her father despite the marks of Cersei's corrupting influence. "I will my perform my duty to the Seven Kingdoms, so long as I am the only suitable claimant to the Iron Throne."

Oberyn stared for a long moment into her Tully-blue eyes prior to nodding in a satisfied manner. "Now," He turned to sit at the unimpressive table, "I must speak frankly with you regarding our plans for the next few months." She swept gracefully into the seat across from him. "You will become acquainted with my paramour and daughters. Unless such a thing would only make you uncomfortable."

Sansa had already considered such a thing, taking into account just how deeply Oberyn loved his family. Perhaps the coming words would have caused her mother to scream in outrage from her hiding place in White Harbor. The girl kept Jon Snow in mind, however, recalling how now that he was her only brother she appreciated him more than ever before. Just as her old perceptions of Princes like Joffrey were colored a dark, painful color, Sansa now found that the concept of illegitimacy was surrounded by a new light. "Never suggest such a thing again, Oberyn," He seemed to visibly deflate at these seemingly harsh words until a smile spread across her face. "I would be delighted to meet your paramour and daughters." They both reached out to intertwine their hands in a fond grasp, beneath the glowing radiance of her declaration.

"Splendid," Clearly her betrothed had been quite worried over that very conversation. "While you get to know them, and Dorne, I will be working to secure as many men as possible behind Doran's back." Here there was a thoughtful pause, "I suspect that at least ten-thousand men or slightly more will join us. Many Dornish spearmen have a twenty years long thirst for Lannister blood. The bigger issue will be finding ships which can be used for transportation to the Riverlands. My brother has a far better grip on the fleet than I could ever hope to match."

Sansa simply reached into the voluminous folds of her silky, yellow dress. Three scrolled letters were promptly set in front of her bewildered betrothed. "One of these is for my mother," The girl spoke in a factual tone, "Who can no doubt convince Lord Manderly to send _anything_ they have available to our aid. Another is for the sorceress of Tarbeck-Reyne, a warning of my imminent approach and promise of Dornish forces." An uncertain pause, "The third is for Jon, my last living brother who is a man of the Night's Watch."

With careful movements Oberyn tucked the important messages into his pocket, standing to both feet. "Rest, my love," He smiled fondly, moving forth to leave a hot kiss on her cheek, "You will be meeting my family tomorrow." The Dornish Prince left to no doubt begin setting their plot into motion. Sansa stood only to find herself drawn towards the balcony. Drowning in the golden light, drowning with concern over dreams about Moat Cailin.

OOOO

Cersei was no doubt fucking some other man at that very moment, Jaime supposed miserably. Despite his newly cleaned body, and mucked out cell the very thought of such a betrayal was devastating. He hoped that the sorceress was simply lying though such an idea did not seem so convincing of a prospect. The Kingslayer felt a niggling suspicion that the mother of his children was sleeping with other men. His Tarbeck-Reyne torturer only seemed too happy to supply him with horrifically reasonable names. She did not stoop so low to remind him of all that he had sacrificed for Cersei, as they both knew that his own head would dwell on such matters easily enough. Dwell he did indeed. Caught sulking in the Tully dungeons when she stopped for a visit every day.

The beautiful witch would speak to him of news across Westeros. Bolton advances in the North, consequent Manderly retreats. How the Ironborn were reaving like madmen along the Westerland coast. Her upcoming battle with his father, which proved an odd prospect. Jaime might have resented the girl's mere existence, the morningstar it sent through Lannister affairs, yet he felt a strange admiration for her. Twice as strong and confusing as those felt for Brienne of Tarth. Lady Lilith was a true Westerlander, but also so much more than that at the same time. A fearsome swordswoman, the guards claimed, from all the Reyne and Mallister blood running through her veins. Jaime recalled the forbidden whispers of the deceased Roger, the Red Lion, Reyne's prowess with a blade. Already she was proving herself far more dangerous than her granduncle's reputation.

Those pink lips, so plump and kissable, read expertly from a book of Valyrian poetry, filling him with an urge to get a taste. Each quirk or radiant smile seemed to promise entire ships of experience, no doubt gained from those farm boys of Sarsfield and Robb Stark. Joints twitching in agonizingly lustful movements, Jaime imagined a sword fight with Tywin Lannister's greatest nemesis. No magic to save the day, overpowering the beauty with that much renowned strength of his, the two of them fucking in Riverrun's dungeons as Cersei festered away in King's Landing. "Are you a maiden?" He asked, interrupting the flowery tale of some heroic justice.

Green eyes peered admonishingly at him, so blazingly brilliant that Jaime gulped. "Why would I care to tell you such information?" She deflected sharply causing him to swell upwards in response. That defensive answer could be taken as nothing more than a yes, and he found himself grinning at the feel of such information. Robb Stark was incapable of fucking this gorgeous creature, whom Jaime found himself growing more fond of with each passing day.

Using what little strength he could the Golden Lion of Lannister struggled forth to sit in front of the bars. "You are too clever to give up your maidenhead, I should have known," He eyed the blonde with unconcealed hunger. How badly Jaime wanted to rip that pretty, green gown to shreds was difficult to put into words. Cersei was always more slender than buxom, somewhat disappointing. Lilith, he had little difficulty in noticing, possessed what Septas tended to deride as an 'unladylike' figure. Broad hips that could give him many children to fill Casterly Rock with, large breasts that no other man had ever seen.

"We will wait on such pleasures," She smiled dangerously, "Until after my battle with your father." Moving to finish reading that last poem those lips fluttered about again leaving Jaime a squirming mess.

Unable to withstand the agony of his unfulfilled, year-old desires the Kingslayer interrupted again. "Wed me now," He urged, "You will get the security of carrying a Lannister heir. A Lannister heir that my father has wanted for years." Perhaps, in the aftermath of that declaration, Jaime was beginning to realize that his feelings went a bit further than lust. Maybe he wanted something more than just to possess this most forbidden of fruits, but to indeed give up his heart to her. To defy Cersei's toxic, brutal, monstrous betrayal with one of his own. "The Riverlands and Stark-loyalist Vale Lords will fall in line easily enough beneath Jason Mallister's respected granddaughter. Roose Bolton will secure what is left of the North. You can fulfill Ellyn Reyne's dream of becoming Lady of Casterly Rock. We could end this blood feud tonight."

A soft, tentative hand reached through the bars to stroke his clean-shaven face. Cupping the handsome, Lannister features in a fond embrace. "When your father is fleeing back east I will return to Riverrun. Only then will _you_ become my Lady husband of the Westerlands. Only then will I fuck you like a whore. Only then shall the blood feud be satiated."

Clearly she expected him to remain silent, so Jaime's response was nothing short of a shock for her. "Do you promise?" He growled, chapped lips running against that dainty hand. "To have me wedded to you in the Sept of Riverrun? To have me chained to your bedpost if you do manage to defeat my father in battle?" She is an enemy, Tywin Lannister's favored child's brain warned, yet he was beyond caring. No future, and even fewer prospects surely awaited him if his Lord father did not manage a decisive victory over the sorceress. At least this way he might manage to regain the future snatched away so long ago by Cersei. To have children, as well as Casterly Rock. To actually be allowed to embrace fatherhood with a wife who might grow to love him. Completely protected from the threat of such sadistic psychopaths as Joffrey.

Emerald eyes seemed hesitant for a short moment prior to recognizing what was being asked. The son of her greatest enemy was actually providing her with a reason to survive the coming fight. "I promise," Fingers tightened, close to the point of drawing blood. Then she fled the dungeons leaving Jaime Lannister to imagine the carnal, debaucherous things they would do to one another as a wedded couple. Whether she triumphed against his father, or not.

OOOO

Hopefully everyone enjoyed this chapter, and has a great Thanksgiving! Please review! Thanks to all who helped get this fic to the one-hundred followers mark!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen: The Oakenseat.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

 _Sansa stood on the massive, stone tower. Looking down on the world as though she were a bird. Directly behind was the massive flame which everyone in Oldtown used to tell the time. So powerful and hot that a single wayward wind could have incinerated her to a pile of ashes. Gasping for breath in the powerful heat she looked out at the golden ocean, marred by the considerable Greyjoy fleet anchored little more than a mile out. Krakens flapped wildly in the wind, causing Sansa to remember another dream. Where that evil, repugnant, foul flag had billowed over the walls of Winterfell. "He is summoning something," There was Lady Tarbeck-Reyne, standing next to a crazed looking woman, "Though I cannot discern what it is." Before the blonde beauty on the stone ledge were several bowls of a noxious liquid, some of which dribbled from the witch's face._

" _The Mad Crow must be planning some sort of sacrifice. Something that can summon the downfall of the Hightower," That same, skinny woman handed Lady Lilith a cloth. "I have never encountered such a force in all of my studies, though. King's blood can accomplish wonders, yet even if he has a King that would only ever set the odds against us at most. Hardly a definitive battle strategy." The pair stood quietly for a while. Sansa realizing easily enough that this was one of those visions where she was not actually present._

 _The lull in this conversation was interrupted by enemy fire. Some of the Ironborn ships must have held catapults, for multiple balls of flame were racing upwards at the Hightower. Sansa very nearly died of a heart attack when it looked like the three of them would be simultaneously snuffed out. With a single word, however, and flick of the wrist Lady Lilith caused them all to erupt far above Oldtown. "He knows this is a stalemate until something breaks the tie in their favor," The woman sighed disheartedly, "But what can we do to ensure the advantage comes to us? There is so very little time left to research the location of Dark Sister, and who knows which Stark maiden 'guards' it. My powers are useless to stop this fleet so long as Balerion aides the Mad Crow in countering them."_

" _You need to keep spying on him, Lady Lilith," The woman answered somberly in response, "If we fall to this darkness then so shall all of Westeros. A slender wrist reached out to wrap tight around the blonde's shoulders supportively. "Everything my family holds dear, every last bit of freedom you have fought so ardently for, it all is predicated on our success."_

 _Both Sansa and this Hightower woman watched with wide eyes as a visibly battered Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne slipped free of the embrace. "You need not remind me of what I have fought for, Lady Malora. I know well enough already." Her shoulders shifted, allowing the cloak clasp to reveal a bruised neck, lilac-tinged eyelids drooped with exhaustion, and her lips were not as supple or pink as Sansa remembered from the last few visions. An incantation was spoken absentmindedly as those green eyes closed, as she allowed her head to tilt backwards and that river of vibrant gold to flap about in the wind._

 _Suddenly the buzzing words of a foreign language Sansa could not recognize stopped. Eyes rolling into her head as she stumbled dizzily unto both knees. Gasping wildly the Stark maiden felt her very essence being funneled through what must have been time itself. With an explosive burst of sound she was dropped onto the deck of a Greyjoy ship, furious waves and hissing wind threatening to swallow the vessel whole. Conscious of the fact that she was clad only in a nightshift Sansa Stark forced herself to peruse what was an undeniable nightmare. Filthy, Ironborn soldiers roamed the slickened deck with arrogant efficiency._

 _In the middle of this all was a man who radiated a far greater degree of nightmarish terror than all of his crew combined. Untamed, black locks whipped in the gusts of cold air while a single eye, so blue it looked black, swivelled about next to an eyepatch. Pale blue lips were torn into a perpetually daring smile. Even someone with half-a-head would have been able to of recognized Euron Greyjoy, the Mad Crow. Swivelling about wildly Sansa searched for Lilith, then when the woman could not be found she struggled to catch sight of the Hightower. Neither of them were anywhere to be seen. Frustrated that the dream was becoming such a convoluted trap she whirled back around only to face the most feared of all Greyjoys._

 _That single eye was alert to a terrifying degree. The auburn-haired girl dismissed his behavior as an oddity, for few had managed to see her before in these dreams. "A pretty, little Lady sent to spy on me," He hissed, dashing her dismissal against the deck like a fish, "From the comforts of her soft bed in Sunspear." She wondered how he knew such information. Rattling with terror the beauty stepped backwards only for the beastly man to follow suit. No one else in the crew seemed to have noticed her, proving that Euron Greyjoy was very much the exception. The man towered above her with a cunning look. "You have intrigued us, Sansa Stark, very much so." A violent vibration pulsed eagerly through the air as he said that, shaking her to the very core. Wrapping like a hook about Sansa's frozen solid navel. There was something watching them, an ancient presence rearing up as though about to eat her whole._

 _All hope seemed lost when the foul pirate's fingers were reaching up to ever so tentatively touch her face she felt a warmth. Everything in the vision cut to darkness, replaced by the wings of glossy ravens. "Run, Sansa Stark," Euron chuckled maniacally into the void, "But I will visit you soon enough!" She lost herself in the cacophony of beating wings and shrill cries. Only coming to again in the midst of many, thick, powerful roots. Sitting on the throne of a gnarled, wooden throne was a pale skeleton with closed eyes._

" _You have managed to progress much too fast for fate's liking, Sansa Stark. Far more, in fact, than I ever considered possible." A red eye, the other missing, stared lifelessly at where she kneeled beneath him. "I can only guide the one, but you are a spare which cannot be ignored." The withered skeleton of a man leant forwards in an intrigued sort of manner, "Find the Oakenseat. Beneath the most ancient floors of the Sunspear. It can lead you to self-discovery, to the path you have thrown yourself upon." With a flick of his wrist Sansa felt herself slapped by a solid force from the land of greendreams._

She sat up in semi-violent sort of manner. Heart beating restlessly. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne, Euron Greyjoy, an ancient being hiding far beyond the Wall. The Oakenseat. Yearning, so powerful and indescribable, so undeniably unlike anything Sansa had ever felt before. There was something beneath her bed, beneath the floors, beneath the hot, Dornish sands. Not wasting a second the Stark swept from the chambers quietly. Oberyn's guard was asleep at his post. "Reassuring," The girl remarked in an unimpressed whisper, even though it allowed her to continue onwards unimpeded.

Auburn hair flying behind her with each step she passed quickly towards an unidentifiable destination. Completely uncaring of her obvious visibility, and only focused on the powerful feelings tugging her along. This journey came to an abrupt halt when Sansa arrived at a plain wall. Large, smooth, and completely in the way of her insane journey. She knew in a completely unexplainable way, however, exactly what to do. Scurrying over towards a specific patch of wall, slapping a greedy pair of fingers on two parallel spots of unremarkable stone. A muted click resounded across the air prior to an eruption of dust into the air. Once again that strange cacophony of feelings surged through Sansa's body.

The Lady forced her way through that small gap before racing blindly about a chain of pitch-black tunnels. A slipper almost fell off, but much to her distracted relief it did not. Scurrying through the darkness Sansa moved instinctually ever further into the depths of Sunspear. Going lower even than the Sandship which made up the foundation of House Martell's pre-Rhoynar dwellings. Occasionally deep cracks which lined the ancient walls would release rays of silvery moonlight. A growing puddle of water, no doubt from some spring far below, would accordingly reflect her wild image back.

A tangled mane of fire glowed luminously in the clouds of blackness. Self-consciously Sansa reached upwards to beat some misplaced locks aside. That was the hair Joffrey, Ser Balon, Oberyn, and countless others coveted so very much. She winced away the painful memories of King's Landing only to find herself cringing at the thought of her dreams. Of Euron Greyjoy, of a withered skeleton Beyond-the-Wall who spoke of a brother that should have been dead. Teeth gnashing violently she fought forwards despite the increasing lack of breathable air. Only seconds later she stumbled forth into a wide chamber crafted of crumbling, moldy sandstone. Copper-coloured water trickled steadily in a frothy current about the muddy floor.

There were cracks high above her head which trickled sand as well as more beams of moonlight. Sickly-looking palm trees struggled against one another in a corner, doubtlessly battling for what little sunlight came during the day. A pathetic excuse for an oasis, but an oasis nonetheless. Night shift now stained a filthy color the Stark girl trudged up a slight incline just prior to coming across a life-changing sight. That in and of itself was an extraordinary feat given all the life-changing things Sansa had seen in the past year or so. Her father's beheading, a queen with many different faces, knights who pretended to be chivalrous but were truly sickening lechers. So many disgusting, grim truths were known to Sansa already.

This, however, put a wicked spin upon the magical dreams she had so recently begun to embrace. Sitting in a oaken throne which shone with a brilliant, golden vibrancy was a beauty beyond compare. While not classically pretty there was something quite striking about those noble features. An air of wild wolfishness radiated outwards from the woman's entire person. Visibly present in everything from the casual crossing of her elegant legs to the dangerous smile on her lips which were redder than berries. It was the crown of blue winter roses which left Sansa reeling backwards in horror. Instead she accidentally twisted down to both knees before this most unholy of specters. How many times had people described this woman who seemed to be a far older version of Arya? How many times had her father's men whispered about the Stark beauty that caused an entire continent to erupt into violent warfare.

" _Hello, my niece_ ," Lyanna Stark's incorporeal ghost whispered with humor flickering briefly in her grey eyes, " _Did you really believe you were the only wolf in Dorne?"_

OOOO

She wore armor of red and gold, sitting atop a stallion of the darkest midnight. Lilith was appreciative of Brynden Tully's insistence that a trip to Riverrun's blacksmith was in order before departure. Stained trousers and boiled leather were good enough for women trying desperately to look like men. Yet on the battlefield, conferring with the men that she was preparing to lead to their possible deaths it was necessary to do more than pretend. 'I must be more than a witch, or Lady, or flowery politician,' The girl thought to herself soberly, 'I have to inspire as much morale as Robb could.'

Aye, her Northmen compatriots would have murmured in agreement had they heard such sentiment. Morale was more important than could be put into words. In the face of Tywin Lannister's host of five-thousand Westerland men and Randyll Tarly's ten-thousand Reacher men they were engaging a terrible threat. That was without even acknowledging Tywin Lannister's unjust ownership of Harrenhal, the impregnable fortress where battle was to be waged. Green eyes roved momentarily over the strictly regimented heads of her five-thousand Rivermen. Heavily bled, yes. They would certainly prove hardier fighters than those of the Lannisters and Tyrells. So greatly outnumbered, however, she wondered whether that might prove proper compensation.

"Do you think Rolph Spicer will be able to muster any men from the Vale before our battle, my Lady?" Ser Crook asked without betraying any nervousness. Lilith smiled at the man's not-so-subtle attempts to make his speech more dignified during their time spent apart.

"I await his next correspondence anxiously," She admitted in a low tone, for it would not do if a footman overheard such matters. "He told me in the last letter, before we left Riverrun, that a contingent of seven-thousand Waynwood, Redfort, Royce, and Templeton soldiers might soon be deployed. Though they face a great deal of political tension in the east at this moment which will surely complicate matters." A concerned pause followed, "That would only do so much to close the gap however." Neither one of them spoke as the grim atmosphere pressed downwards heavily. Even with three-thousand of the four-thousand Stark men laying siege to the Twins reallocated to this cause it was all still up in the air.

Camp was set up after a few hours more of marching. They were a day from Harrenhal still, and Lilith soon found the Riverlords were quite wracked with anticipation. All of them arguing heatedly over the strategy board as soon as her tent was set up. Trying to enjoy the comforting heat of the roaring brazier she listened to them all. Smallwood barking at Vypren, Wayn hissing cutting insults at an indignant Wode, and a Blackwood close to blows with a Ryger. There were others of course, so many snarling men that Lilith was expected to control. "QUIET," The lovely girl cut through the din of clattering voices easily enough, "Quiet."

They all stared at her expectantly, so she delivered. "We march towards battle with five-thousand men. Mayhaps some more men will come to our aid, or even not. Just know that if anyone dies it will be me. I will lay my life down for each of you pathetic cunts. For all of the loyal men out there who are prepared to advance on their possible demise. The least we could do is at least pretend the sky is not about to fall on top of our heads!" Looking properly chastised all of the Lords fell silently into their seat. "It might surprise you all, my Lords, but I was raised by a Maester. Taught every little bit knowledge he thought worthy of imparting." A metal clad hand fit gripped tightly into the table as she pushed back to stand tall. "That is why I have devised a plan of attack."

Some of the men balked at that. Yes she was a powerful sorceress. Yes she was Jason Mallister's granddaughter. Yet none of that meant that Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was fit to be plotting militarial maneuvers. "Lord Smallwood. I hear that you have some of the fastest remaining riders in the Riverlands under your employ?" He nodded amiably enough. "I shall determine the position of both our Vale allies and Northmen reinforcements using my...Abilities. You shall give the two riders these messages." Two perfectly sealed notes bearing the Direwolf of House Stark were handed over to the man. The man was then sent on his way given that there was no time to waste for such a task.

"As we speak a messenger has been sent to inform Tywin Lannister that I wish to meet with him prior to the battle. Fifteen men shall accompany him, and I will go with three." Loud protests started until a hand was held up. "I have proven myself capable of murdering the Old Lion with a few words, I executed his own sister in such a fashion. It seems more than reasonable to me." She continued only when they all nodded in reluctant agreement. "This meeting is our best, nay, our _only_ hope of buying time."

"What would we need such time for, my Lady?" Asked Lord Vypren with befuddled curiosity, "Other than the arrival of reinforcements what could possibly be so special that Lord Smallwood needed to deliver those messages?"

"Clever, Lord Vypren," She smiled sharply, "I am sure a smart man such as yourself could answer a single question for me. What do Rivermen know best? Better than any other kingdom in Westeros could claim?" Here he wrinkled his brow in response while slightly raising both shoulders. "The rivers, my Lords," Lilith praised them all, "Longboats, trade, battle. Rivermen have thrived and lived off these mighty rivers for centuries. Waged war on these rivers. They are one with these rivers. I intend to send all five-thousand of you to the rivers which are fed by the God's Eye. From there we shall strike north at the Tywin Lannister's forces." A finger pointed at the map towards the distant figurines which characterized the presumed positions of their nearing reinforcements. "If Lord Smallwood's riders reach them in time the Eastern and Northern forces will not only converge, but strike south as well. Forcing the Tyrell and Lannister army to fight us on two fronts." Not to mention that the muddy water and sloppy earth were where most of her powers belonged.

Already the mere act of discussing this unfavorable situation was allowing her to feel a bit more confident. Maybe Tywin Lannister outnumbered them, yet that did not mean they would go down quite so easily. A rumbling agreement started amongst the foolish Lords, all of whom seemed quite grateful to be worked out of, another, dilemma. "Now prepare your men, gather longboats, secure an advantageous position on the river. Discreetly." They all rose to do as bidden swiftly allowing Lilith to enjoy the comforts of her tent.

Wasting no time she undid her tight bun, removed the metal gauntlets from her fingers, and prepared to change into a comfortable shift. Only a small window of time passed before she was interrupted by a very distressed Ser Crook. "My Lady," He breathed raggedly, wide-eyed, "A force of one-thousand has approached the camp. They are neither of House Stark or the Vale. One man is demanding to speak with you." Hissing nervously at the development she followed him towards the edge of their massive settlement. Such a force did not just _come_ from nowhere. Tywin Lannister was probably trying to weed them out with a preemptive strike in his own, clever way.

She prepared for the sounds of warfare, or even grisly death until frenetic whispers reached her perked ears. 'Beric Dondarrion…', 'Brotherhood Without Banners…', 'Seven-hundred women with spears!'. Not wasting much time Lilith finally found herself standing at the border between the last few tents and the wild night of the Riverlands. Indeed a force of nearly one-thousand were amassed beyond. Few torches meant that the rumor of seven-hundred warrior women could not be proven true or false. However, it also showed that the Brotherhood was intent on keeping Tywin Lannister's, presumed, scouts from determining their full force.

A ragtag collection of men had formed alongside Ser Crook around Lilith so that she could step forth to meet these strangers. Ill-reputed, yet perched non-aggressively on her doorstep nonetheless. In response to her arrival three scarred, war-torn men guided their steeds to near closer. One woman followed close behind on foot, a mace dangling from her belt. "Lady Lilith of Houses Tarbeck and Reyne," A man preambled shortly, "My name is Harwin of Winterfell. I was one of Ned Stark's household guards before he sent us to the Riverlands. Before everything turned to shit." He pointed fingers to the other men. "They are Beric Dondarrion, and Thoros of Myr. We have come with a proposition for you."

"It must be quite a proposition, Harwin of Winterfell," She acknowledged in a loud tenor, "For a shade under one-thousand men to accompany it. Though from what I hear there are twice that number of women wielding pitchforks in your company…" Everyone already knew what was going on. Beric Dondarrion, Lord of the Corpses, must have been rather tired of dying. Their numbers were newly bloated with Stark-loyalist refugees thanks to the Red Wedding. Anyone with half a brain in their skull could see that Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was about to launch the final battle in the east with Tywin Lannister. Whoever won would be in charge of meting out peace to the troubled Riverlands. Soon enough the Brotherhood without Banners would fall into rank alongside her own forces. She found herself more mystified by the notion of these smallfolk women though.

Beneath those few flickering torches which were brandished the girl could see them staring at her. They came in all shapes, sizes, and orders. Toothless whores, pregnant, old, big, small, but each possessed one trait in common. They were tough, scarred, brutalized. With haunted eyes. Raped and beaten, starved and widowed, a select few even went without bodices to proudly display mutilated flesh left behind by the repugnant sellswords who Tywin Lannister invited to pillage their lands. "Aye, my Lady," That hoary old woman standing on both feet just behind the three commanders stepped defiantly ahead of them. No man would speak for a woman, no, warrior such as this. Lilith noted that Harwin daren't even try to interrupt his reluctant companion. "We brandish pitchforks, an' scythes too. We bring the tools an' implements left behind by our dead husbands. From Maidenpool to Darry we have flocked to see the Lady of Tarbeck-Reyne. The woman who commands what remains of the Northern Army, an' knows too well the plight which we all resist."

"May I ask what your name is, brave woman?" Lilith asked. She looked reluctant to answer the question. No doubt one of those leaders capable of leading, but not quite thirsty for any glory. There was a long pause until another woman stepped forth from the darkness.

'THE BRAVE WOMAN'S NAME IS MAURELLA,' This nameless, plain figure screamed, 'AND SHE LEADS US TO VENGEANCE!' Cries of affirmation rose upwards into the air as these hardened females stamped their feet, brandished their weapons, and hollered at the top of their lungs. The sheer ferocity of it all left Lilith reeling with an amazed, impressed look shining through her green eyes. For so long the girl had felt pressed down upon by the misery wrought from the Lannister threat. Now she felt reason to hope again.

"I will have the three men and this Maurella treat with me in my tents, under a guard of course," She leant up to whisper in Ser Crook's ear. Another consideration. "Try to settle this entire force together on the outskirts when they set up camp. I have a feeling these new men know well enough already to steer clear of such fierce women. The same cannot be said for our Tully soldiers." He nodded dutifully, as Lilith turned to face this unexpected force. A throng of warriors who had seen the very worst, but were still filled to the brim with morale.

OOOO

Olenna gripped at her cane tightly, eyes roving across the scroll from one of the many spies under Tyrell employment. Sunlight and the stench of shit burned at the Lady's nostrils as she contemplated only the latest bombardment of unsettling news. "Grandmother," Margaery smiled concernedly, placing the glass of wine aside to snatch the piece of paper away, "I have hardly ever seen such a look upon your face." Her doey eyes widened at the compilation of stunning news from all across Westeros. "Oberyn Martell is visiting the Dornish Lords while Sansa remains at Sunspear? But surely..."

A long, beleaguered sigh was released in response, "We both recognized that Sansa Stark was a clever little thing. Loathe she was to reveal it to anyone. I knew, once she ran off with that Dornish scum, that it was only a matter of time before such things would begin to happen."

"Why would he move against his brother Doran?" The younger Tyrell seemed not so much astounded as she was puzzled. "The last report claimed that the Prince was not willing to support any rebellion against the Baratheon crown." Fingers clicking against the table, a bad habit, Margaery nodded speculatively to herself, "If they manage to find enough ships, and bring enough men to the Riverlands or North it would spell doom for the Lannisters." As close to a sullen pause as the beautiful Noblewoman could have gotten preceded her next words. "Tywin Lannister should have allowed Lady Sansa to wed Willas. Highgarden would have been more than dependable in containing the threat she poses, better so than the Imp at least."

"That did not happen though," Olenna tutted, "Now we must make do with yet another Lannister mess. Catelyn Stark still alive and rallying the Stark loyalists in the North. The Westerlands divvied up like cake between the Ironborn and that Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne. Who just so happens to have liberated those damned Riverlords we only barely suppressed." An angry sip was taken of her Arbor wine, "Hopefully Tywin Lannister can bury her beneath Riverrun's ruins like he did Ellyn Reyne. Before Oberyn Martell manages to involve himself in this war."

"Do not forget that the Royces, Waynwoods, Templetons, and Redforts are also patiently waiting to make the Baratheon dynasty bleed," Margaery added unhappily. "Perhaps I simply should have travelled to wed Robb Stark rather than Joffrey. At least the King in the North was too honorable to torture his own wife, nor plagued by rumors of incest." At this declaration a miserable, terrified look was allowed to cross the Tyrell girl's features.

A wrinkled hand patted at her own, younger one in response, cunning glimmering in the eyes of the Redwyne crone. "I told you not to worry over that Lannister bastard. He will be sorted out soon enough." They fell for a time after into a troubling discussion regarding the upcoming battle at Harrenhal. Margaery fretted nervously over the witch's involvement, and Olenna was inclined to just as much concern. Rumors of both miracles and unprecedented horrors being performed by Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne had reached her old ears. Tywin Lannister, for all his rumored prowess, had made a foul mistake in denying the Reynes and Tarbecks leniency. Soon enough she watched as her granddaughter was forced to leave at Joffrey Water's behest.

"My Lady," Her guard, Arryk most like, reappeared from the mission she had sent him on earlier, "I acquired this for you." The tightly bound scroll was sealed with a plain blob of wax. Ignoring him Olenna Tyrell eagerly opened the message from one of her four spies in the Westerlands. This particular one was from a Fossoway Maester who served at Faircastle. The Ironborn were well-known for their stupidity, so it came as no surprise that Olenna was intrigued to know which Greyjoy was clever enough to attack the Westerland coast. Yet a shocked, horrified, partially pleased look rose up instead at the news that it was, in fact, not an Ironborn invasion.

The Young Wolf was not dead. Sacking castles with six-thousand men and a fleet of warships covertly constructed at Seagard. A fool might have howled with rage at the realization that they would lose the War of Five Kings. Olenna recognized this for the opportunity it was, though. Only several moments earlier she had discussed the precariousness of the Lannister position with Margaery. Now it seemed that in the nick of time she would be able to pivot one last time, in a rather fortuitous direction. "Right," She announced, prompting Erryk, to come to her side, "Fetch me ink and parchment. Then prepare the fastest rider in my company to deliver a letter to Randyll Tarly."

OOOO

"Milord," A vicious, pretty whore smiled in the darkness, pressing close against his bars. Rattling in her nervous fingers were a set of keys stolen from the dead guards outside. She put them to good use before coming to a stop before him. "Your Lord father sent me to free you. There is a supplied horse waiting in the courtyard for us, and I persuaded a guardsman to open the portcullis soon." Jaime had been used to hearing the guards outside his portion of the dungeons fuck whores whilst on duty often enough. He had known something was wrong when the sounds of rutting were replaced with two, terrified gasps. Surely enough his unlikely rescuer's partially unlaced bodice was splattered with droplets of blood.

She neared closer, so that the chains which bound Jaime from head to toe could be removed one-at-a-time. He had not been free of them since Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne, the sorceress he was now quite enamored with, ordered a bath half a week ago. Allowing himself a moment to stretch Jaime felt the whore press against him provocatively close. "Now we need to release the other Lords, and we can ride far from here," Lips reached upwards to press against his exposed neck. The Kingslayer felt it rather unsurprising that an opportunistic whore managed to succeed where so many men failed. A surprised breath was released before he let her drop off his body to the cold floor.

"You will be staying here," He nodded to himself while moving to pick up the keys, "And so will the other Lords." Slipping from the cell Jaime stopped only to lock it back in place. The man marched from the dungeons expertly prior to finding himself in the courtyard. Almost crying at the feel of a cold breeze on his face he carefully found the mentioned horse. Waiting patiently for the gates to be opened. His mind wandered to where he could go once free of Riverrun. A dutiful son would no doubt travel home, to rally forces and bring the chaotic Westerland coast back to heel. Yet a larger part of the man's heart, what was left of it, knew that such a mission would be useless.

Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was resolute where he had been so weak. She was just and righteous when it came to her convictions. Jaime did not doubt that his father would lose any fight he picked with the young Noblewoman. He yearned suddenly to serve someone other than his corrupt father, his whorish sister, and his repugnant son. Jaime Lannister wanted to ride east to Harrenhal and fight alongside the reputedly fearsome witch. He wanted to fight for the right side at least one more time in his life, and no one would be able to deny it this time. Not when he rode to battle against his own father and delivered the Riverlands into the arms of his family's greatest enemy. So when the portcullis opened Jaime rode free from his prison.

A voice in the back of his head speculated warningly that it could have been the effect of sorcery. Though something strong spurred him onwards towards his destination. Green boy daydreams of Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne standing inside of a Sept, and himself at her side. The sort which Jaime Lannister had not had since the days before he was forced to become the Kingslayer.

OOOO

Nothing particularly groundbreaking happened in this chapter, but I still like to think it was great! There will, obviously, be some battle scenes soon enough which I am nervous about attempting to write. Another note, I am not intending to abandon this story. My classes have really jumped in intensity though, and I have been struggling to fit in my fics. So please bear with me while also remembering that updates will still roll out, no matter how slowly!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen: Respect Lasts Beyond Death.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by HBO, or George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company.

OOOO

Rickard Karstark marched into Deep Den with a proud back, and murderous eyes. Behind him the loyal men of the North who had been sent along for their southern campaign followed somewhat warily. It was not every day that an aristocrat simply opened his gates to an enemy army. Surrender was only fit for those willing to carry the burden of being called a traitor. Though Rickard did suppose that the Lannisters did deserve such a betrayal, and he was the last man who would ever complain about such. This only meant there would be more willing swords to spare in the forthcoming battle against the Tyrell cunts. He marched ever further before halting inside of the Great Hall. "Lady Lydden," The Northman sneered viciously at the brown-haired woman, eyeing her comely daughters who all stood in subdued manners. The young boy standing nearby was clearly too young to have been conscripted into Tywin Lannister's army.

"Lord Karstark," She announced with no hint of pride, clearly intent on survival, "My husband will surely pay the price for our treachery to Tywin Lannister. Yet I know that the forces of Deep Den stand not a chance against your army of fine men." She looked as if the war had sucked the life from her.

"Why would I accept surrender when I can simply take? Have your lad put to the sword like mine own were?" Here he smiled cruelly, "Have you and your pretty daughters put to an entirely different sword then sent to the brothels?" Two of the Lyddens held back sobs of terror at that threat, except for one he noted. She was golden-haired with a willowy frame rather unlike that of her family. Gauntlet-clad fingers creaked with sudden rage, "I would leave Deep Den under the supervision of a trusted steward. One who could wed whichever of these lasses I take pity upon..." A Maester slipped forth then, handing him a crinkled sheet of parchment. Curious now, Lord Rickard unwound the message only to finally comprehend what Lady Lydden wanted of his army.

"The Ironborn have been marching steadily through the Westerlands towards the east. Half of their forces are returning north along the coast. That other half have toppled Feastfires and Kayce. They paused to disassemble Clegane's Keep prior to marching onwards towards our home." All of the men behind him paused their rude remarks about the Lydden girls to shuffle worriedly at that. Tyrells were one thing, but the Ironborn were an entirely different matter. The force of men Westeros had labelled as idiotic fools for so long had very recently proven themselves a threat worthy of immense trepidation. Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, Banefort, Kayce, Kennings, Faircastle, and even Winterfell had all fallen. "You can kill my men, Lord Karstark," Lady Lydden remarked dryly, "Or our eager cooperation will spare you a painful defeat. At a moment when Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne needs victory most."

"What do you want for such cooperation?" He asked calmly, painfully aware of the fact that she now held all the cards. The Northern Army was divided too thin for any reinforcements to be spared. The Lydden men would not be so easily strong-armed into cooperation as the Leffords had.

"My men will not only assist you against the Ironborn, but I am also willing to send them south with your forces against the Tyrells. You should also know that my recently widowed sister is acting as a regent for House Serrett given that her son is a mere babe. Accordingly, the swords of Silverhill will be more than willing to lend us their might." Her words deepened the ditch within which he found himself greatly. Lady Lydden would certainly drive a hard bargain against him now. "I merely ask that you wed one of my daughters in return, and swear to assist myself and my sister in gaining the favour of Lady Tarbeck-Reyne."

A wife and his word were hardly major sacrifices to be made in exchange for at least two-thousand men. He already realized that the expedition south could be damned. With such a contingent of Westerland and Northern forces he could halt the Ironborn in their tracks. Then they could move east to reinforce the Blackfish, or even surprise the Tyrells with an attack from behind. "I will accept those terms, if I find the wares to be agreeable upon careful inspection. Have your lovely daughters disrobe and prove their worth." Rickard jerked control of the negotiations back into his grasp.

"Lord Karstark," Lady Lydden stepped further in front of her horrified daughters at his insinuation, "Please do not humiliate my children in such a way. One of them will be your wife after all." Her desperate plea only resulted in a further tightening of his jawline. All of the Lydden women seemed to realize in that moment just how deeply their Northern visitors hated them. Hoots and hollers shook the hall as his men hollered obscenities at the Ladies.

"Do not beg, mother," The one who had captured his interest stepped forth confidently, pushing the distraught woman behind. Delicate, long fingers reached up to undo the laces of her pretty gown. "If Lord Karstark wishes to treat his potential brides like cattle, then that is what he shall get. Our endurance of such humiliation shall repay us tenfold." Bravely she began to further unlace the front of her bodice while the other two sisters cowered like sheep. Lord Rickard was quick to halt such movements before anything unforgivably improper occurred.

"You will do well in Karhold with such a spirit, girl," He nodded reassuringly at her, all the harshness replaced with neutrality. "Though I fear you are much too young to wed me. Perhaps a betrothal contract can be drawn, Lady Lydden. Between my son Harrion and your daughter." Relief seemed to flood through the woman's eyes at his sudden mercifulness. Her daughter was clearly much too resilient in nature to reveal such dangerously telling emotions. Turning to the men behind him Lord Karstark bellowed for them to begin assimilating with the Lydden soldiers. It would be a long march to Silverhill after all, and they would have to move like the wind.

OOOO

In big moments it was common for one's heart to beat rapidly. So fast, so thick, so very full of blood. Lilith felt none of those things, but instead an anxious cold. The kind that left cold shivers rattling along the length of her spine, and a sickening sheen of sweat wherever it struck. "Stay close to me, Ser Crook," She whispered with sudden urgency, "I need you to stay at my side."

"Always, my Lady," The fatherly man proved himself a worthy substitute for Ulric's stalwart companionship. He paused thoughtfully, "You are stronger than any woman I have ever met. If Tywin Lannister were half so wise as they claim then I would expect him to be more terrified of _you_." She wished she could feel reassured by such words, but Lilith had learned the hard way that words were wind. This entire meeting itself was wind, a mere farce meant to buy time. At that very moment half of her army was moving into place within the thickets of forests that surrounded Harrenhal. Doubtlessly Tywin Lannister was maneuvering his men into a similar sort of position.

Green eyes flitting upwards she stared down the centermost figure which rode towards them. Amidst the crowd of guards the Old Lion of Casterly Rock was commandingly fearsome. Here was the man who had murdered off all of Lilith's relatives, but only barely stopped short of herself. Fingers straightening to release any remaining tension from her body she watched as the party of twenty came to a firm halt. His armour was golden and red, or the exact opposite of her own Lilith noticed first. A bald head, golden mutton chops, and broad shoulders. His own emerald eyes betrayed no hatred or emotion, but were calculating all the same. "You should curtsey before your rightful overlord, bitch," An angry looking man sneered. He was not even from the Westerlands bearing the image of House Oakheart on his tunic.

"Now, now Lord Gwayne," Tywin Lannister raised a hand to the Reacher heir, "I would never expect a traitor to bow to their rightful executor." At that pronouncement the entire crowd went deathly quiet.

"If Lady Tarbeck-Reyne is a traitor then what are you, Old Lion?" Ser Crook demanded loudly, "What sort of Lord Paramount leaves his vassals to suffer at the hands of Ironborn. Just to keep hold of a throne for his incestuous daughter and bastard grandson?" The common-born Knight had never shown such a witty side before. "Perhaps that is a sign that leadership should be changed. That while you men hide on these sides of the mountains your wives are fighting with the only person willing to protect them."

"YOU SERVE A CONNIVING WHORE!" Gwayne Oakheart bellowed, "YOU COMMONER FIL-."

"Aesiyr," Lilith snapped fiercely. The Oakheart prick was slapped off of his horse to the muddy, Riverland ground below. At least ten crossbows were pointed her way in response. "I did not come here to be insulted," She stared confidently at Tywin Lannister who held his hand aloft. Prepared to have the men loose at any moment. "You will not win this battle Lannister. Not with an army of untested Flower Knights. Not amongst the rivers tended to by my grandsires for centuries, nor with Westerland soldiers who would rather be defending their families." A cocky grin split her features, "Surrender yourself to me, and I will allow every last one of my Westerland brethren to return home. To fight the Ironborn back from our homeland. Likewise, any soldier sworn to the Tyrells will be brought beneath my stalwart protection."

"Slice your throat," Tywin Lannister answered remorselessly, "And have your head delivered to my camp. Or the men beneath _my_ protection will topple Segard, Riverrun, and every other rebel stronghold while you watch."

"So there will be a battle in the morning, I take it?" She asked dryly, "Should I ask the garrison of Riverrun to send your son's cock to us in pieces? A centimeter taken for every insult your men spewed at me today? An inch for every single one of my relatives you murdered?"

"It would be only right, my Lady," Ser Crook answered quickly, obediently, "Fathers should not be forced to be away from their children. Perhaps the Old Lion can grasp his son's testicles close to heart as you drive a lance through his empty heart cavity."

Cunningly green eyes glimmered hatefully at that in Lilith's direction. "Ellyn Reyne in the flesh. Leading another army on another fruitless endeavor."

"Not quite. My grandmother was a fool to not ally herself with the other Lords indebted to you. I learned from that mistake. In the forty years you served as Lord Paramount, Hand, and father of the Queen, your kingdom has grown divided." She was nowhere close to finishing, "Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, even Robert Baratheon all had vassals who _respect_ them even in death. Yours fear you, but what of that fear will remain after life? Even if I lose, you shall suffer a worse fate one day." Her white stallion began to circle backwards, "With my last breath, the inevitable shall still come about. Your legacy will die, but mine will only grow stronger."

With the three guards watching her back she rode clear to safety.

OOOO

Plans that shifted at the last minute were never Lilith's best. She grew weary with a lack of confidence, uncertain to a dangerous degree. So many factors were far from resolute, so many pieces moving at whirling speeds, so many sudden developments. Ellyn Reyne would have advised her to wait out the storm until the rest of her army arrived. Ulric might have counselled a cautious approach of using sorcery to spy on Tywin Lannister. Jason Mallister would have simply charged through with the unfailing loyalty of all his Lordly neighbors at hand.

Lilith was none of those people however. She was not willing to push any available time to its absolute limits, not when such inaction would only make her men nervous. She was a worrisome old man like Ulric who had hidden her away for so many years. Nor was Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne willing to march her equally loyal forces right into a blind slaughter. No, the girl was better than all of her political tutors. So instead of following any of their mistakes she combined the better parts of their methods.

Ser Crook was set in charge of a Riverlord delegation tasked with reorganizing the Brotherhood without Banners into secret positions on the God's Eye. They were, after all, much more suited for the guerilla warfare Lilith had in mind. Maester Marwin who had travelled along prove worth his tenfold when bidden to spend any remaining time Projecting for Lannister secrets. Any magical energy Lilith had could not be spared for side projects. Having two reliable allies to trust left her with the ability to plot. Like so many other times before she stood above a map with intimidating pawns crafted of silver.

"My Lady," Marwyn burst into the tent, sounding quite excited, "I must-."

"Hush, Maester Marwyn," She sighed wearily while continuing to eye the various pieces momentarily. "Now tell me," Lilith finally removed those green eyes from the disheartening sight.

"There was an uproar in Harrenhal late last night," Marwyn instantly captured her interest. The mage looked quite exhausted from his excessive Projecting though that was to be expected. Lilith was so uncommonly powerful that she could scry with very little effort at all. "Olenna Tyrell sent Randyll Tarly a treasonous letter demanding he betray Tywin Lannister on the field this morning. It was intercepted and not only was Lord Tarly imprisoned, but the Tyrell women have just been placed under arrest in King's Landing. Joffrey Rivers is to wed Margaery Tyrell this evening."

Of course it was nice to hear that Tywin Lannister was not quite as infallible of a foe as he tried to seem. Yet such good news did little for Lilith. The Tyrell forces would remain bound to those of the Lannisters so long as Margaery Tyrell was held captive with her grandmother. With such a delicious rift developing beyond enemy lines she ordered Marwyn back to his tent for more spying. Not much later it was unsurprising that Ser Crook arrived to deliver more good tidings. The three-thousand Stark reinforcements from the siege of the Twins had arrived giving them all a fighting chance. Even if the Vale forces were waylaid somehow it seemed there would not be a total slaught. Her loyal knight asked if it was time to prepare the men in ranks for battle immediately upon delivering this news.

"No, Ser Crook," Lilith wrapped both hands nervously about her upper arms, "Pass me the Father's Gift, and prepare yourself for what is about to come."

OOOO

Sansa refused to tense her shoulders as she swept outside into the burning heat. Red dress sweeping against the dusty ground her feet continued to move without any pause. Scarlet locks swirling loosely about her elbows the girl glanced surreptitiously to her most seniorly guard. The Rhyonish-featured man was firmly loyal to Oberyn which had made him the obvious choice for Sansa's plots. With an authoritative bark the younger guardsmen were dispatched to survey the area for any incoming threats. Without much pause he guided her firmly into the bawdy inn which would serve as a meeting place.

"How did you come to know anyone from such an… Establishment?" Asked her Dornish companion as they watched a partially nude prostitute entertain three men at once. Sansa did not provide him with any acknowledgement of the question. Even in Dorne it was possible the girl might be burnt at a stake for her recent exploration of sorcery. Blue eyes roving away from the carnal acts she swept forth towards a man who sat in a shadowy corner. "Ronaq Flizar," She announced, appraising his scarred face, "My name is Sansa Stark, and we have business to discuss."

"Do we?" He asked in a guttural tone, "I am inclined to disagree with such a notion. Unless it involves Ned Stark's daughter slipping out of her pretty, red dress." The guard moved forth to beat the mercenary to a pulp until Sansa silenced him by raising a gentle hand. With effortless grace she sat across from the Essosi man. Tossing a large bag of dusty dragons in his direction. "What is th-?" He began to ask.

"A down payment," Sansa interrupted him snidely, "I promise you will find my coming proposition infinitely more intriguing than pretty, red dresses." At his sarcastic gesture to continue she proceeded again. "With all of the political turbulence surrounding Daenerys Targaryen at present I could not find any other sellsword companies of… Adequate repute." Smiling dangerously, "That is where you come in, and before you make some snappy comment about House Stark's recent destitution I am more than able to prove my independence of wealth." At that the head guard of her new household opened his cloak to set down three more bags of dusty dragons.

"What do I need to deliver you? What could a massively successful pirate of the Stepstones offer a refined Lady like yourself?" Flizar asked in response. He did not show any greed at the sight of the gold which left her feeling uncomfortable. Men who did not reveal hunger for their particular vices were the most dangerous.

"You have six war galleys, eight-hundred sell sails, one-hundred freeriders, and half-a-thousand sellswords. Currently they are ferrying stolen goods from Volantis to Planky Town. Yes?" She did not demand an actual response, but instead listed the information as facts.

"How the fuck do you know that-?" A dagger was swiftly pointed at his jugular as he sat back. Roiling in fury.

"I know many things, Ronaq Flizar. Things that could have half of the Free Cities hunting you down. I also know your true name." He went quiet, clearly realizing that no witty banter would save his hide from her. "Accordingly, you must know that I am in yet another precarious political position. Hostilities are rising between Prince Doran and some of his relatives. If my situation were to become anymore unbalanced I would require safe passage from Sunspear to White Harbor. You would be given more gold in exchange. Perhaps enough to retire to Pentos." A taunting look filtered into those blue eyes, "Though that might not be wise given what you did to a joint investment of half their Magisters several years ago."

"Even I would not stand much of a chance in a direct engagement with Doran Martell," He admitted bitterly.

Sansa laughed lightly so as to not draw undue attention, but cut an impression all the same. "I am hardly asking you to conquer Sunspear," She shook her head in an elegantly rueful manner. "No," The girl grinned, "You will be given a signal. From the Tower of the Sun a flaming arrow shall be shot by a loyal servant. From there a small party including Oberyn Martell's family, myself, and a special item will need swift spiriting away." Fingers curled ever so slightly against the splintered table. "I will do my part just as you will so yours. Understood?"

He nodded easily far too easily. Sansa gestured swiftly at her escort who wasted no time in responding. The pirate was slammed against the table with a knife pressed tightly to his throat again. Thin droplets of blood spattered outwards in response. "If you attempt any sort of trickery, or deception," She smiled icily at him, "I will have a friend in this city. One who will listen very carefully for my safe arrival in White Harbor. Should that news never arrive to Sunspear your true name and a list of your despicable crimes will be distributed to every ruler in the Free Cities."

"Yes," He hissed furiously, "You will get to White Harbor."

"Excellent," Her voice was not taunting in the slightest, "I will see you should the need ever arise." Stepping outside she hardly waited for the guard to catch up. This proved to be an incredibly foolish move. The second Sansa's feet touched the dusty ground of the Shadow Town she was thrown aside by an armour-clad form. Five of her guards were put down like diseased dogs. Oberyn's most loyal soldier was not even able to wound his crowd of assailants prior to sharing a similarly gruesome fate. Recalling the tale of how her father had been crippled by Jaime Lannister in such an ambush she tried to run.

Until a Martell guard grabbed hold of her before twisting them both back around. Sitting atop a horse was Arianne Martell. Gorgeous as the Dornish sun setting on a particularly orange day. "Sansa Stark," The beautiful Viper Princess smiled brightly, "If you are ever going to be a Martell you must learn who can truly be trusted." Here she leant forth in a comical manner, as though actually trying to tell a secret from seven paces away. "These men were all bought off by my father."

Sansa looked at all of the bloody faces with a disgusted feeling settling in her belly. They would have sold her out the second she stepped in Sunspear. All of them would never have even hesitated to snatch away her only means of escaping Dorne. "But what makes you so certain either of us can trust these particular guard?" Sansa asked as one of them helped her clamber atop an empty steed.

"Blackmail, of course," Arianne nodded speculatively, "Bribes typically work well enough to buy loyalty. Though not in a place like Sunspear where so many wealthy Nobles are concentrated together. One ally who you can trust over all others simply needs to spend a day threatening the best of the barracks into submission." Sansa felt relieved, despite having been captured only moments before, at finally knowing how it worked. How Cersei and all the other aristocrats of King's Landing had had so many spies.

Though gaining them by such atrocious measures was not something Sansa Stark was willing to contemplate. Even if it meant losing her head like her father had. "How does one gain the loyalty of other Nobles though?" Sansa asked this as though she believed it were actually possible. Smallfolk, in her experience, were not used to aspiring or dreaming. They could be easily directed towards specific causes.

"That is never a certainty," Princess Arianne smiled sensuously, "But more a game of luck. Balancing such swords never loses its edge, though I have found that such games grow far more enjoyable with experience." Sansa greatly doubted that assessment given that she hated being forced to manipulate. Joffrey, Ser Balon, Oberyn, and now Arianne would become the newest fixture of her ambitions. Never before had the girl attempted to influence the decisions of a woman and it would be very difficult. Her blood-red hair would not save her now.

"I will be frank, Princess Arianne," Sansa spoke detachedly, trying to emulate the way her mother spoke to some of the more unruly Northern Lords. "I have no allies here now that Oberyn is on his… Jour-."

"He is gathering an army to retake your familial claims with," Arianne interrupted with curt smoothness, "I know it, as does every single person in Westeros who possesses a ravenry and a brain. Just count yourself lucky that my father refuses to see what is in front of him. Or you and my uncle would have been locked away together in a room somewhere." She smiled slyly, "You do not need to worry, Princess Sansa. I have already sent my uncle a letter pledging him my full support. Undoubtedly half of the Dornish Lords loyal to him have already seen it." Arianne could have been lying. All of this conversation a ploy to trick Sansa into acknowledging treason. Yet she needed the young woman's help due to an utter lack of allies in Sunspear.

The Sand Snakes had not taken well to their father's sudden interest in a much younger woman. Ellaria was sweeter than starfruit though had made it clear that she would soon be fleeing to safety in Hellholt with her own daughters. Everyone else was either firmly aligned with Doran, or did not matter. "Why would you go against your father? You are the heir to Dorne?" She asked probingly. If Arianne wanted her trust she too would need to admit to treason.

Silence fell for a dark, bitter moment until the girl spoke. "I once found a letter from my father to my younger brother Quentyn. He told Quentyn that _he_ would be the ruler of Dorne one day instead of myself. To make matters worse my father refused to allow me to accept a betrothal offer from your grandfather Hoster Tully, or to meet Willas Tyrell. He instead told me I could wed Walder Frey." They both shivered at that notion together.

"You need armies," Sansa nodded aloud, "My rightful bannermen in the North and Riverlands."

"Not to mention whatever of the Vale sways to your side, or anything that remains in Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's control," Arianne added easily. "I will help you now, but remember that one day the favour will need to be returned. That Sunspear will eventually be mine."

"I swear it on my honour as a Stark that I will help you," Sansa announced suddenly, "So long as you always remain loyal and true to me." A brief affirmation was all the girl needed. "I will require the assistance of your ablest, most loyal men in an immensely discrete task. Sooner rather than later."

"Does this have anything to do with how you found the coin necessary to pay for Ronaq Flizar's services?" Arianne asked interestedly.

"Of course," Sansa smiled partially, a cold look befitting the Northern Princess's regal beauty.

"I will learn in good time, I suppose," Her new companion shrugged easily. "Then there is another matter you yourself have certainly considered. We would have to be fools to leave Myrcella Baratheon behind. Stannis Baratheon must be executed once peace has been returned to Westeros, as will his bastard nephews. I have begun to instruct her in the art of ruling, and feel that she will be an adequate ruler for the Stormlands."

"Do important hostages tend to make good rulers?" Sansa asked in a mockingly quizzical tone.

"I have not doubted your capacity for leadership for a single moment, Sansa Stark," Arianne smiled back with no small amount of ferocity.

Neither of them spoke another word, riding the rest of the way to Sunspear in silence.

OOOO

The Northmen and Riverfolk were ready to rip one another to pieces. Ned Stark's death had brought them closer than ever before, so close they were compelled to fight a lost cause. Robb Stark's death left them weakened, but not insurmountably so. Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's head being served to Tywin Lannister seemed to be the fram which could not be stitched back properly. Ferocious Mormonts of Bear Island refused murderously to consider yielding to the Boltons. War-hardened Riverland women from the Brotherhood Without Banners argued that the sorceresses' sacrifice would not be wasted on pride. Words were bandied, weapons drawn, and blood splattered about upon the dirt.

Jaime did not know whether or not he had truly loved Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne. There was lust, certainly, as well as the explicit promise of many nights filled with tantric lovemaking. Yet all of that no longer mattered. Once again the Kingslayer found himself observing all of his good efforts undone by his father. The saving of King's Landing had only meant the murder of Rhaegar's completely innocent children. His promise to Catelyn Stark had been absolutely nullified by those wet-shitted Freys at the Twins. Now the most revolutionary, sensuous, powerful woman he had ever dreamt of meeting was no more than a dismembered corpse. Blinking away images of the golden beauty skillfully reading him Valyrian poetry Jaime only wanted one thing.

With immense distaste the man glared at the bickering bastards about him. The triumphant host marching towards them all from Harrenhal would no doubt give a simple offer. Surrender peacefully or die. All of the present Northmen would surely be executed for their continued loyalty to House Stark. Every last one of the Rivermen would no doubt be castrated, or victimized by whatever other brutal ploy his father developed. Unless another Lannister finally stood up to the Old Lion. If a Reyne could have accomplished as much as Lilith had, he imagined, what could a Lannister manage to do? Breathing deeply, eyeing the coming threat, he tossed his hood back suddenly prior to clambering atop the exhausted horse. "AYE YOU SHITHEADED WHORESONS," He bellowed, hoping desperately this would not mean his death.

The Kingslayer, most of the fighting crowd united briefly again to hiss ferociously. "YOU WISH TO RIP ME APART?" He boomed across the crowd like any decent commander should have been able to, "GOOD. UNITE ONCE MORE FOR ANOTHER CAUSE. MAKE THE LAST LIONESS OF CASTAMERE PROUD ONCE AGAIN." Some still glowered murderously in his direction, but a great many other were listening to everything he said. "I LOVED LADY TARBECK-REYNE AS EVERYONE HERE DID. SHE WAS HOPE EMBODIED, AND THE PROMISE OF RIGHTEOUS JUSTICE! A WOMAN WHO MADE OUR MOST ATROCIOUS SINS SEEM REDEEMABLE. A WARRIOR WHO SACRIFICED HER OWN HEAD ON A PLATTER TO SPARE YOUR LIVES."

"Why should we care what the Kingslayer says?" An indignant man with a tattered, Umber giant emblazoned on his tunic scoffed loudly. Some cries of agreement chorused about him.

"MY FATHER IS AN EVIL MAN, NOR HAVE I EVER BEEN MUCH BETTER. BUT LADY LILITH VISITED ME DURING MY IMPRISONMENT. TEMPERED MY TORMENTED, LANNISTER SOUL WITH HER COMPASSION." He paused to gulp in much needed air. "I WILL NOT ALLOW THAT MEMORY, THAT HOPE, THAT PROMISE OF A BETTER FUTURE TO WITHER AWAY. BE IT WITH YOUR AID, OR ALONE, I SHALL RIDE INTO BATTLE. TO FIGHT FOR THE SORCERESS WHO PUT MY FATHER IN HIS PLACE!" Throat broken, incapable of saying anything more, Jaime charged forth to stand at the head of the watchful party. Many of the men were still visibly unconvinced though many more seemed to recognize that following his lead was their best chance.

Ignoring the useless band of ragtag commanders Lady Lilith had left in charge he eyed the large army which approached. "You're not our leader, Lannister cunt," A foul man nearby with a wretchedly thick, commonborn accent protested. Jaime secretly hated nothing more than when people pronounced cunt as 'coont'. With a fearsomely swift series of movements he reached into his saddle which was strapped tightly with a variety of weapons. The whore who released him at Riverrun had proven quite an efficient planner. Only seconds later an expensive dirk was sailing firmly into the repugnant throat.

"Ser Crook," He was only certain of that particular man's name. Jaime recalled how he had always watched over Lady Lilith when they travelled to the dungeons. "My father will rightfully expect your forces to be undergoing a schism. Send the proper commanders to hide amongst the men while we wait for him. Be prepared for my signal to summon them all into battle." Fortunately it seemed that the Riverlords were smarter than their soldiers. Most of the Noblemen disappeared like smoke into the tempestuous crowd after Ser Crook spoke to them all. The rest remained to rally a defensive group of warriors around him. "Perhaps I will make history today, Ser Crook," Jaime smiled cynically at the older man, "The great commander who led an army that hated him."

"Or the man who fought for the sake of Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne's memory," The commonborn Knight bit out gravely.

"Yes," The Kingslayer felt pained when he admitted it, "That as well." Eyeing the approaching, massive army of little less than fifteen-thousand Jaime felt the rush of adrenaline. He must have sat there for half-an-hour waiting for the Lannister-Tyrell host to come close enough. "We must charge now," The man declared as soon as it seemed that his father's army would circle them all. Oddly enough someone had had the foresight to order spiked trenches be dug on either side of the camp. Otherwise his interference might not have even been enough to save Lady Lilith's ragtag army, and they would have been cut through like butter. Raising his sword, Ser Crook doing the same, caught most of the armies' attention. With a surprising display of cohesion ranks were swiftly formed. Albeit they were quite ragtag and still assembling as far as the eye could see, yet there was something suspicious about it all. How Ser Crook had proven himself such an effective organizer was also curious.

"They are ready Kingslayer," One of the two remaining Riverlords spat nastily in his direction. Jaime Lannister wasted little time yelling for the far away archers to ready themselves. Hoping that perhaps one of the arrows would pierce his father's helm, so he might one day be given a different, less tedious, nickname to worry over. Everything went to shit the second both armies clashed, for Jaime at least. He had never fought in a battle without a guard of Westerland warriors about him. In less than a few minutes his horse was skewered by a lance. Only sheer skill and luck kept the Kingslayer alive when everyone all around seemed to have died or simply vanished.

Despite this personal setback he noticed later on that the Stark coalition was performing better than expected. The Reachmen beneath Randyll Tarly's charge were largely green boys. Easily slaughtered and seemingly reluctant with the work that needed doing. Still, the Westerland fighters were vastly more experienced, and the sheer difference in sizes between the two armies was vastly in Tywin Lannister's favour. When it finally dawned on Jaime that they would probably lose was the moment that he found himself violently thrown backwards by a battle-crazed stallion. Four adversaries wasted no time at all advancing.

Foreign words mixed with the occasional buzzing noise were uttered behind the man, however. Two of the men instantly began to fight with each other instead of focusing on murdering their prey. The remainder found themselves thrown backwards through the air by an invisible force when more foreign words escaped into the air. Jaime quickly turned around so that he knelt on both knees. Standing above him was a stocky man with a mask crafted from Valyrian steel adorning his face. Covered in blood while clearly gasping for breath. "You are too important to be wasted on this battle, Jaime Lannister," The eccentric Maester, Jaime noted his circular chains, "Watch yourself."

The eccentric bastard moved on to stab at several adversaries while Jaime wasted no time launching back into the onslaught. Flaming arrows, blood-coated swords, and dying men filled his line of vision as he continued battling. A sudden charge changed the tides to a far more favorable outcome for his side. Storming from the woods to the left was a force of at most one-thousand men and women led by Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword. That gave Jaime reason to momentarily pause. Such a tactic would have required that these new Riverlanders remained on the God's Eye for quite some time so that any Lannister scouts would have no idea of the impending storm. Careful planning that would have fallen apart with Lady Lilith's death, especially if Jaime had never arrived and her army surrendered.

Something was not right, yet Jaime continued fighting. All the while contemplating how prepared Ser Crook had seemed in conjunction with this new development. Fighting on two fronts the Stark and Tully forces now found themselves fighting on much more equal footing. Another hour of battle passed until he finally saw what trick his new allies had been cleverly hiding. From the other side of the battlefield arrived another new party. Though the woman leading them left Jaime Lannister reeling violently for breaths that would not come. Even from so far away he could recognize Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne leading several hundred men into the fray from atop a black stallion. Pausing to admire the living, breathing, beautiful sorceress, who might just have placed a spell on him, proved costly.

In a fell swoop his latest opponent knocked him back into a puddle of mud, shit, and gore. Another man paused long enough from his own duel to stomp on Jaime's hand before sticking a sword in the middle of the mangled aftermath for good measure. Screams could not adequately describe what ripped through Jaime's throat as he realized that his right hand would never function again. Though despite the pain there would be no warrior Maester to save him this time around. Left hand fumbling for his belt the Kingslayer rocketed forth on the ground to hamstring his opponent. Then stood long enough to bury the blade into the unsuspecting neck of that goat fucker who crippled him.

Pushed onwards by his boiling blood, Jaime Lannister scurried with a hunched back towards where Lady Lilith was dominating the battlefield. He recognized easily enough that the young woman had chosen this spot specifically for all of the muddy earth. Every Westerlander or Reachman unfortunate enough to get in front of her were blown upwards by powerful explosions. In front of his dizzy eyes many, clearly, experienced swordsman suffered similar fates beneath her skillful use of the Father's Gift. Then they swarmed her. Feet stumbling forth as fast as he could manage Jaime watched as the sorceresses' abilities failed her. First she no longer influenced the earth or water, then all of her other magical tricks ceased to manifest, and finally a gruesome looking man with a scar on his face kicked her sword away.

Despite having slaughtered roughly several hundred men on her own the Red Witch of Castamere was finally apprehended. She at least managed, from what Jaime could discern as he scurried closer, to bring the adversary down with her. Droves more filled the vacant spot until he could no longer see anything. Too late Jaime arrived. Too late did he begin slashing at Reachermen. In a sudden explosion of mud he found himself thrown backwards violently onto a patch of corpses. Gasping shallowly for breath, head spinning, eyes unfocused he lost himself in what followed.

The witch was covered in blood that was not her own. A heart clutched in her fist while those crimson-stained lips worked spells at a furious pace. With horror Jaime observed how she pinned enemy soldiers against the ground only to rip them to pieces as though they were merely a leg of mutton. Those teeth ripping brutal strips of flesh away while Lilith slurped greedily upon the rivers of blood. The Kingslayer wondered then if Lilith Tarbeck-Reyne was his own wildfire, for she fascinated him as much as the substance had King Aerys.

Unsurprisingly the Reachmen were the first to surrender after Lilith's savage return sufficiently permeated the battlefield. All of them throwing their weapons down prior to kneeling. Then the Wetstermen did the same. Many still simply deserted though. Shaking violently from the pain of his mangled hand Jaime tripped forwards. He observed in a shocked state how Lady Lilith, so inexplicably alive, now stood calmly over the many bodies she had produced. The woman was beautiful even plastered in all the grossities of battle. "Jaime Lannister," She addressed his presence without having even turned around, "Your loyalty is surprisingly durable for one known as the Kingslayer."

A scurrying soldier from House Smallwood stopped when beckoned forth by her. "Find Ser Crook, or any other ranking commander. Have them organize one party dedicated to apprehending any surrenderers. Then another to reinforce Harrenhal." He left with visibly terrified eyes to do as bidden. Jaime understood why shortly thereafter. Her eyes were solidly green in colour. The whites were gone, and only the tiniest of pinpricks remained of those black pupils. "I broke a promise I made to myself long before ever meeting you, Ser Jaime," Those eyes, so much like solid emeralds, pierced into him. Straight to the soul.

"What promise was that, Lady Lilith?" He asked uncomfortably. She did not answer. Instead reaching out to grasp the mangled hand in her calloused hands. Sudden pain ripped through him so powerfully that he was brought to his knees. Before Jaime's eyes the skin stitched together while bones attempted to pop back in place.

"I doubt that you will ever fight with your right hand again," Her voice grew tender with some indescribable emotion, "Though you should not require an amputation." With no other words spoken Lilith swept away. Performing more medical miracles on the injured men releasing agonized screams across the battlefield.

OOOO

Was she a monster? Lilith no longer knew if her mind could form a sufficient answer to such a question. All the girl truly knew was that something had radically changed within herself during the course of battle. A Tarly man with his blade poised for her throat was all that had been required for the witch to toss her morality aside. To rip him into little bits and pieces so that her magic could flare to life once more. When the blood touched her lips it was as though something deep inside had snapped. Then there was the insatiable desire for more compounded by the fact that she had been within the midst of a battle. So Lilith stole again and almost murdered more men even after the enemy delivered themselves to her mercy.

All of these brutal thoughts and memories were racing within the young woman's head as she rode tiredly towards Harrenhal. While Ser Crook had been charged with leading the disorganized men to battle she had travelled by boat on the God's Eye. Tywin Lannister, firm in his belief that he had won, left a skeletal garrison in place. Little effort was required to take the legendary stronghold back into Stark possession. Then the witch of Tarbeck-Reyne had wasted little time in circling back to watch Tywin Lannister's defeat. Of course, Jaime Lannister had been a rather unexpected variable thrown into the middle of those plans.

"Do you feel… Yourself?" Marywn the Mage clearly goaded.

"No," She retorted shortly. Upon catching sight of his reproving look Lilith chose to acquiesce. "It is as though I can actually _see_ the world for the first time, Maester Marwyn. Like someone ripped the cloth off of my face and every little sound, sight, even _taste_ , has been magnified." Any confidence deteriorated as she crumpled somewhat. "These men all stink. I can smell the burning bodies even from here. How do I make this stop?"

"You cannot," He answered shortly, "I suspected that you crossed a boundary during the battle. My suspicions were just proven correct." Marwyn stared up at the sky. "It is considered an evil thing in Essos, even Asshai, for Maegi to consume their fellow man. To regard them as nothing more than bags of magical energy, or meat. Those superstitions aside there are very good reasons for the stigma. You will never fully become human again even though your appearances might grow less animalistic again with abstinence. That in and of itself will prove a trying feat for you to accomplish in these times of war."

"I felt unstoppable though," Lilith speculated nervously, "We could conquer Westeros in a fortnight if I… Feasted again."

"Would that be worth the cost though?" He asked in a retaliatory manner, "Even without considering the guilt you clearly have from feasting just now, remember the repercussion I mentioned. In this state you are an animal. A predator of mankind. Such a transition in your state of mind can drive you insane. Just this time alone will leave you feeling unhinged for months to come." There was the insinuation of something beneath his tone.

" _Speak_ ," She growled, surprised at the ferocity behind that one word.

"You will find it very difficult to abstain from the flesh, blood, and bone of your fellow man. I must warn that you will certainly relapse at some point. We cannot afford such weakness when malevolent deities are waiting to pounce on any vulnerability you might possibly display." The merest reminder of what still stalked her deepest nightmares left Lilith reeling from his cautionary advice. Violet eyes filled with sadistic hunger. She could never allow that creature to control her again like he had in death. Especially not in life.

"I will try," The girl felt her slender shoulders shake as she struggled to speak. Perhaps being preoccupied with the coming storm of logistics from winning that battle would preoccupy her new, rather unwelcome desires. "Do you have any news for me to consider before I make any announcements in Harrenhal, Master?"

"The Vale forces arrived an hour after you ended the battle. It appears that Tywin Lannister sent a force with Armory Lorch and other commanders to harry them from arriving in time." His answer left a grim prospect to be considered.

"So Tywin Lannister's most loyal Lords still live uncaptured?" She felt annoyance flare at the notion of having to tie up such a large loose end. "Did we at least capture the Old Lion?"

"Yes, my Lady," He nodded with certainty, "Ser Crook has identified him. That particular prisoner is now being delivered to Riverrun as an extra means of separation from Cersei Lannister's influence." She almost sagged in relief at the notion of not having to deal with Tywin Lannister quite so soon. There was a pause, "Randyll Tarly has also been recovered within Harrenhal alongside his son Dickon."

"He shall be kept in our dungeons. Margaery Tyrell has certainly been impaled by Joffrey River's cock several times over by now. There will be no chance for reprieve from the Tyrells any time soon." They entered the dilapidated courtyard of Harrenhal which was already filled with triumphant soldiers. "How many men remain from Tywin Lannister's host of Westerlanders?"

"Nearly four-thousand," He grimaced before answering the unspoken, "More than half of the ten-thousand Reachermen were slaughtered. We only lost two-thousand-five-hundred soldiers. Our luck rests in the fact that the great surrender occurred shortly after your arrival to battle." The Old Lion had truly capitalized on the Tyrell's treason. They must have composed the entirety of his frontlines.

"You will lead those forces to King's Landing," She announced after a moment of thought.

"My Lady! Have you gone berserk? That would give the Lannisters another chance at victory?"

"I have not lost my faculties quite yet," She bit back at him, "That will be nine-thousand disheartened men all but waiting to desert. Subject to perhaps the greatest display of post-battle mercy ever witnessed in Westeros. We shall see whether they manage to weaken King's Landing' morale at all before fleeing to safety." Those Westermen in particular needed to recognize that only more bloodshed would come from refusing to accept her as their new Lord Paramount. "Now if you could send Ser Crook to meet with me this evening before your departure, it would be greatly appreciated." Without another word the young woman dismounted her horse to seek shelter in Harrenhal.

Exhaustion and self-disgust would hopefully fade away after a much needed slumber.

OOOO

Ugh. Sixteen pages. I still don't know how I finished this.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen: Aftermath.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

One thing did not disappear with rest. Lilith felt her stomach shift with each word she vocalized, swollen with the blood of other men. The disgust consumed her mind like an obsession. Drinking another cup of wine the young woman tried to ignore how it tasted with her temporarily heightened senses. Not poorly either, no, but better than it ever had before. Which only served to remind the female heir of the immense cost of it all. Innards aching furiously again she looked up. Seated around a large table in Harrenhal were some of her most influential supporters. Excepting Maester Marwyn who had marched to King's Landing with the Tyrell forces. He had remained fiercely critical of her idea to deliver an intact army back to Cersei Lannister's clutches, so they compromised. The Westerland men would be sent back home to defend their families from the Ironborn instead.

Bickering marked this meeting as it did all of the others Lilith had ever involved herself with. Mostly her militarial strategists were infuriated that Jaime Lannister now sat on her left hand side while Ser Crook occupied her right. Next to the commoner knight was Ser Rolph Spicer who remained as silently calculating as ever. Beside him were Lords Symond Templeton and Yohn Royce who were accompanied by various sons, or vassals. Anya Waynwood and Horton Redfort had been left in charge of the rest of their coalition back in the Vale. Opposite this assembly from the Vale were the Brotherhood Without Banners, sans Lord Dondarrion who had died for the final time. Then the Riverland Lords of varying degrees of importance followed. "Ser Jaime has aided us in capturing his own father, so that Tywin Lannister may finally pay for his crimes. I refuse to hear any arguments against my decision to seat him in a position of honour."

Grim rage could have burnt her on the spot though Lilith did not truly care. She had defended the Riverlands from harm, saved Robb Stark's cause from doom yet again, and even managed to eliminate any truly threatening Lannisters from power. Anyone who objected to the Kingslayer sitting by her side could go to the Seventh Hell. "Bring Randyll Tarly and his son forth," The sorceress commanded. Only moments later the pair were dragged in to face the assembly. "Lord Tarly," She eyed the war-hardened man warily, "It is an honour to meet a man of your reputation."

The time spent in the dungeons had left him filthy. Covered in shit and blood. Still there was a dangerousness to him. Something terrifying that Lilith had seen in very few others. "It must be an honour to hold my son and I hostage as well. To keep us from the fray while the Ladies Olenna and Margaery are tortured in King's Landing."

"They are far from the innocent maidens you paint them to be, my Lord," Lilith smiled frostily. "The Tyrells placed themselves in King's Landing to attain more power. Whatever consequences they now suffer are the result of a game not-so-well played. Be happy that such reckless leadership did not threaten the safety of your wife or daughters." With a snap one of the guards placed a document before the spot where he knelt. "I wish not to needlessly spill blood. Sign this contract and your men stationed at Maidenpool will be escorted back to the Reach. So long as they surrender amicably, that is."

"What of Eleanor Mooton?" Tarly was growing visibly enraged, "My son is betrothed to her."

"Stipulated on the second page of that contract," Lilith smiled cunningly, "You will break your son's betrothal to the Mooton heir." She glanced briefly over at Dickon Tarly. A handsome, muscular lad even despite the filth plastered across his body.

"Perhaps that could be agreed to if a _suitable_ replacement were offered," Cold eyes insinuated heavily what he wanted. There was no 'suitable' replacement of a caliber equal to Eleanor Mooton in the Riverlands. Other than Lilith herself, or Walder Frey's inheriting granddaughter that was.

"Your refusal to accept these generous terms shows that my generosity is not being properly appreciated. Sign the contract, or return to Thorn Hill without your hands."

Defiantly the Tarly Lord shook his head before spitting upon the contract which sat before him. "You sorcerous whore!" He hissed, "May the Seven turn their strength upon your wickedness. Might they remove such an evil blight from Westeros!"

"Have Lord Tarly executed," She nodded to the guards who escorted him in, "Then deliver the body to Thorn Hill." The defiant Reacherman was pulled from the room while his son screamed in protest. "Aesiyr," Lilith buzzed out, causing Dickon to be slapped backwards at the other end of the long table. Standing tall she stared down at him, "Your father had an opportunity to save many lives, yet he scorned it in favour of power. Will you do right by those men at Maidenpool as the new Lord of Thorn Hill? Or will I be disappointed by the Tarly reputation again?" He remained silent with that shocked face. "Place him under heavy guard in chambers befitting his station," The witch directed a less important Redfort son, "Bring the contract for our guest's perusal as well."

Sitting back down she glanced at all of the faces of her stunned commanders. "Dickon Tarly will act as a squire to Ser Jaime," Her terrifying, new eyes roved over them all collectively, daring for any dissent to be voiced. The Lannister Lion would need someone to help train his last remaining hand in swordplay, and could prove capable of manipulating Dickon. "He is far more malleable than his father. We find ourselves facing an almost insurmountable threat from the Tyrells. Dickon Tarly is our only potential weakness in their empire." She felt it wise not to mention the connection she would soon have to the Hightowers through Maester Marwyn. "Now," The Lady leaned backwards somewhat regally, "I presume there are other issues which must be dealt with?"

"My Lady," Bronze Yohn Royce spoke over the sudden clamour, "I apologize again that you were forced to face Tywin Lannister without the support of the Vale. Our loyalt-."

"Will never be questioned," She stared firmly at him, "You would have been here had it not been for petty deception. Besides, we won, did we not?" A loud cheer came from the right side of the table. Of course Lilith did not truly believe her own words. They _had_ won, but only by the skin of their teeth and with her wicked wit. "I understand that you must defend your honour however, after such a standard display of Lannister deception. That is why I am sending your fine men to perform a grand service against the influence of the Bastard Pretender in these lands. Ser Templeton shall take half of your number to eject the Reachermen from Maidenpool. You, Lord Royce, will then take the remainder to recapture Darry from Lancel Lannister."

"We will not fail you, Lady Tarbeck-Reyne," Symond Templeton declared firmly.

"I never expected you would," A smile curved her lips at that. The Riverlands would be fully reunited again.

"Who will hold those castles, my Lady?" An overly ambitious Wode asked impetuously. "The Darrys are gone now. Finished off by Gregor Clegane."

"Yes," Came the agreeing voice of a Vance from Atranta, " And Lord Mooton was only too happy to open his doors to the Tarlys."

A careful pause followed after their direct questions were issued. It would not do to have her men divided over a competition for new lands. "Lord Mooton will be apprehended upon your arrival, Ser Symond. He shall be tasked with joining the Faith at Stony Sept." She considered her plan carefully. The man would have ruled a major market in the Riverlands for many years. He could find contentment in assisting with oversight of her ambitions for the dismally underexploited settlement. "Eleanor Mooton shall be sent to Riverrun for her own safety given that Dickon Tarly's betrothal shall no longer provide her any shielding." Now came the most critical points of her plotting. "Ser Rolph shall be the temporary castellan of Maidenpool. Accordingly, Ser Crook shall travel to Darry with Dickon Tarly and also act as a castellan for those lands."

"The Brotherhood Without Banners, including the women beneath Maurella's charge," She nodded at the hardened woman, "Will be deployed immediately to regain control of these troubled lands. All Riverlords are obligated to provide your numbers with any excess resources needed to provide relief to the Smallfolk. Prioritize the rivers by patrolling them with the longboats from the battle. Trade needs to begin flowing back into this kingdom immediately, and you will be able to move more efficiently than the mercenaries." Maurella stood and left the moment after this command was spoken while her compatriots simply stared. "The woman has the right of it!" Lilith snapped, "Leave this instant. The Smallfolk cannot be left defenseless a moment longer." They all scurried away in response.

"My Lady," Yohn Royce began after their hurried departure, "Should we be spreading your forces so thin when the Tyrells are actively marching into the Riverlands? Perhaps the Blackfish should be reinforced now. Darry and Maidenpool can wait a little while longer, can they not?"

"Respectfully, Lord Royce, I must disagree," She smiled while thinking of how long it had taken him to answer their calls for help. How he dared to offer unsolicited advice after having cowered in the Vale for almost the entirety of the war. "Ser Brynden has been ordered to employ only guerilla tactics against Mace Tyrell. Pinkmaiden has withstood, what? Three sieges already? There is no chance for the southeast to be conquered by our enemies any time soon. Besides, I have learnt well from Robb Stark's victories. If we were to dash off to assist Ser Brynden it would allow Cersei Lannister to push an offensive. I find that current risk to be more rewarding than to wind up trapped between two sizeable armies."

"Lady Tarbeck-Reyne is the closest we have come to returning order to these lands," Lord Smallfoot piped in snappily, "Woman or not she should be listened to, Royce."

"Lord Smallfoot not only speaks out of turn to his betters," Ser Symond retorted, "But he has only addressed half of the issue as well. Certain, significant, sects of the peasant population from Gulltown to Casterly Rock whisper of the evils Lady Tarbeck-Reyne works. They distrust being led by a self-proclaimed witch, and insist that your black magic is not worth being free of the Lannisters."

Jaime Lannister placed a hand on Lilith's shoulder in that moment. She stiffened surprisedly as he took charge of the discussion. "This 'witch', as you labelled her, has proven herself tenfold. Lady Lilith salvaged Robb Stark's forces, tossed off the grip my father held over the Riverlands, and shattered it three days ago without any assistance from the likes of you. She is owed the opportunity to prove herself as an administrator of this new kingdom." Eyes bored speculatively into the pair of them at his interference. "Now, you will all allow her to speak uninterrupted because she is owed at least that little courtesy."

Swallowing, wondering what the Lords thought of her new closeness to Tywin Lannister's son, she began to speak. "We must secure the Riverlands before turning our full attention to Mace Tyrell," Fingers tightened into the armrests of her chair, "That is why two-thousand Stark men will be sent back to the Twins where my uncle, Patrek Mallister, leads the siege alongside Jon Umber. Edmure Tully _must_ be safely recovered if there is ever to be any hope of long-lasting stability in these lands. In the meantime, three-thousand Stark and Tully soldiers will begin to chip away towards King's Landing. Antlers, Hayford, and Duskendale will fall to us. Striking home the message to Joffrey River's followers that doom approaches."

"What of the remaining three thousand men?" Lord Royce pressed, earning a hateful glare from Jaime.

"They will be tasked with defending Harrenhal so that there may not be yet another battle beneath these walls. I also intend to begin a reconstruction of this fortres-." There was instant uproar as everyone present began to clamour about the notion of such a thing. Ser Crook slammed his mailed fist down violently onto the table prompting silence to engulf them all.

"We are in the middle of a war, woman!" A Goodbrook knight yelped indignantly despite the warning to quiet down. "From whose coffers will you gain the funds necessary to achieve such a- such a fanciful dream?!" The Vale Lords remained quiet as they watched her previously faithful supporters pivot like weather vanes.

"I am the Lady of Tarbeck Hall, and Castamere. Ser Rolph has pledged to support me in any endeavor I might pursue. He himself has control of the wealth in Golden Tooth. My grandfather controls the only true port in the Riverlands. Wealth is not the issue, I am set to become the wealthiest woman in Westeros as soon as my affairs are finally settled." The concerned faces were, understandably, not appeased. Seagard was far from wealthy enough to help in such an expensive undertaking, Castamere was a submerged ruin, and Tarbeck Hall had collapsed.

"Remember what we spoke of," Jaime Lannister whispered as the room broke into chaos once more.

She felt uncertain of what to do. Harrenhal's reconstruction had waited long enough and was vital to the security of Robb Stark's young kingdom. Revealing her informal betrothal with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and a viable heir to Casterly Rock's wealth, would assuage any financial concerns. Yet Lilith had hoped Robb would not hear of it whilst beyond her influence. He was hot-headed and likely to murder Jaime once he returned to the Riverlands. "Ser Jaime and I have informally betrothed ourselves to one another as well," The girl spoke loudly over the ruckus, "Which means that Casterly Rock's immense wealth will be directed to the task."

What followed was so vicious that guards had to remove the Riverlords from the chambers which once served as Tywin Lannister's war room. At Lilith's behest her Vale guests left immediately for their respective sieges, and only her closest allies were allowed to remain. "They all hoped that you could be persuaded to wed their own sons," Ser Rolph explained after the sudden sword duel died down. "Those fools have been vying for your hand in marriage for months now."

"Uniting the Westerlands is far more important than such foolish rivalries. I tire of dealing with idiotic, unambitious Lords." She peered discreetly towards the Kingslayer. Plenty had changed after the battle, including how she felt about him. He had ridden all the way to Harrenhal to fight with her against his father. That was far from unambitious, and opened the door to a certain degree of growth in the relationship they would soon be expected to have with one another. Furthermore, with her heightened senses she found herself revelling in the strange scent of him. Musk and something she could not manage to put a name to.

"Do not let them hear you admit as much, Lady Lilith," The handsome, older man chuckled mirthfully, "They are already furious at having been spurned in favour of a cripple. A Kingslaying, kin-betraying, cripple." He gripped self-consciously at the unmoving hand which Lilith had been unable to fully fix.

"Self-deprecation aside," She remarked coolly in response, "There are matters which must be resolved. Namely, my reputation amongst the Smallfolk." Sighing mightily the witch leant back into her seat. "I will order the construction of a Sept to rival all others at Stony Sept. Coupled with a Knightly Order of the Riverlands dedicated to protecting peasants in times of strife. They will not be sworn to either House Tully, or the Faith, but to this new realm ruled by the Starks. Somewhat like the Night's Watch."

"It would certainly go a long way towards gaining you the love of the peasants," Ser Rolph acknowledged. "Once King's Landing is taken we could even capture the High Septon and Most Devout so that they may be… Relocated to the Stony Sept. My spies in the city could be directed towards executing the task before the city falls."

"Lady Lilith has no interest in bringing that weak-willed fool, nor his chittering little group of perverts into the Riverlands. They would waste no time corrupting this Order of the Riverlands against, what will be perceived as, a weak new government. Learn from the mistakes of the Targaryens when it came to the Faith Militant," Ser Jaime took control of the argument. In his own bored, rude, arrogant manner.

"Ser Jaime has the right of it. I intend to ask only for three things of the High Septon. First, he will elevate the Stony Sept to a Great Sept. Second, Lord Mooton and all who come after him will be granted an honorary spot on the Most Devout. Finally, Ser Jaime's Kingsguard vows will be nullified. All of this in exchange for the Faith's continued existence in King's Landing." She nodded at Ser Rolph, "So yes. Do instruct your spies to prepare to secure the High Septon, yet not for his kidnapping."

The Spicer Lord stood to leave, but found himself issued another direction. "Ser Rolph," Ser Crook handed her five letters as she spoke, "In order to begin settling the northern Riverlands we must begin the delicate task of redistributing House Frey's considerable influence. For that reason you must send these letters, _and_ soothe the tempers of the northern Riverlords amongst us. House Vypren will be asked to bring House Haigh on as its vassal, while Houses Erenford and Charlton shall become vassals to House Mallister." He blanched at the jealous uproar that would need to be quelled though simply bowed without saying anything. Left with only Jaime Lannister and Ser Crook she sighed.

"Ser Crook," A tired smile worked across her face, "There is a matter too sensitive to have been discussed even in front of Ser Rolph. The Brotherhood Without Banners rescued the bastard of Darry after it was sacked by Gregor Clegane. Lord Roote has privately validated the young man's identity. I intend to have him wedded to Amerei Frey immediately after you have dealt with Lancel Lannister. Undoubtedly plotting has been bubbling behind my back at who would claim Darry through wedding Amerei Frey. None will be pleased to have been spurned in favour of a bastard."

"Now please," She was exhausted, "The both of you have tasks to accomplish. Leave me." Jaime Lannister followed Ser Crook without saying anything. Lilith was not worried, however, for he was clever enough to know what needed to be done.

Basking in the silence proved an unattainable dream as those thoughts came back in full force. Memories of herself, consuming men like a demon on the battlefield, burnt the back of Lilith's eyelids. Breathing deeply she reached for ink and her writing utensil. Scrawling a message to the only person who could possibly help.

OOOO

Sansa Stark bit her bottom lip tightly after approaching the wooden throne slowly. She wondered whether this would be the last visit in a while, given the growing instability at Sunspear. Men loyal to Arianne Martell would soon be excavating the ancient roots of the throne. They would find the many treasures buried beneath the mound of earth. Though none of that truly mattered to the girl. No, she was worried about the Gardener Throne. About what might happen if they failed to extract the first thing to give her answers without a price attached in a very long time.

" _You have returned_ ," A man she did not recognize greeted her. He was old with the same grey eyes as her father. They bore a shrewder spark though.

"Where is Aunt Lyanna?" Sansa asked confusedly, "Who are you?"

In the flash of an eye he was replaced by the beautiful sight of her Aunt Lyanna. " _I take many forms,_ " She hissed with a decidedly masculine voice, " _That is your first lesson, child. Magic takes many forms. Only fools believe what they can see with their eyes_."

"I am no child, and I already knew that," Sansa snapped back firmly. Politics worked much the same way. No one was what they appeared. Joffrey had been beautiful, her father had seemed so strong and wise, Arya had seemed like a useless tomboy. Now she knew better. Every night, even now when she was free from King's Landing, that particular lesson ate away at her emotions like a parasite.

Only moments after issuing the defiant retort she screamed in surprise. " _You know chicken shit, you arrogant chit,_ " The spectre had appeared suddenly behind her. The left half of its body was Lyanna while the other half was a handsome, yet wild, man of Stark colouring. " _Your grandfather thought he knew everything as well."_ It mutated into the old man again. " _He was cooked inside of his own armour."_

"Who are you. _What_ are you?" Sansa was beginning to lose her temper. She stepped forth to peer into her long dead grandfather's face. "Where did my Aunt Lyanna go?" In response there was a rapid flash of shadows as the figure was again replaced by empty air. Lyanna sat once more upon the Oakenseat. Not for long though as she swiftly started to mutate. He was ancient. Long white hair pooling about the wood around him in a sparkling waterfall. Dark, stormy eyes glared down at her, for he had rocketed up to an immense height.

" _Our kin beyond have chosen me to train you_. _No honor in it though_ ," He glared tempestuously while his features flashed violently. " _I was the Lord of Winterfell for many years. The great-grandson of Torrhen Stark. Alaric the Niggardly they called me_."

"The threadbare Lord," Sansa breathed out. She remembered Old Nan's tales of this particular Lord of Winterfell. His Lordship had coincided with the visit of the Good Queen Alysanne. He was a proud Northman when the former kingdom had been growing more influenced by southern culture.

" _Aye_ ," He regarded her with a suspicious look, " _Not completely useless I suppose. Even if you come from the loins of a Tully sow_." Sansa did not bother arguing with him. This was a man of Winter. One who had been famously unyielding. Admired by his Lords, yet feared. Very much like Tywin Lannister, frankly.

"What would you teach me, my Lord?" Sansa asked him diplomatically instead. "Why was my father not chosen in your stead."

" _Your father was a fool, his father was a fool, and worse still, his grandfather was a fool. Though his spirit attempted to make its way here We have forbidden it. House Stark needs knew guidance from the old ones. The Kings of Winter."_ Alaric Stark glimmered like white fire at this announcement. " _They tried to send King Theon, and Benjen the Bitter. Though those two wanted nothing to do with a half-southron wench. You must prove yourself first…"_

"Prove what?" Sansa asked exasperatedly, "Aunt Lyanna told me nothing but riddles about the Tourney at Harrenhal. Now you speak in half-baked bits of gibberish!" Her mistake in lashing out was immediately punished. A force of energy across the air sucked her to the muddy the ground. The breath was knocked from both of her lungs.

He was gone.

OOOO

Lilith had had quite a busy week. In the wake of her battle much had shifted. To the south things had begun to shift now that her battle was won though not in predictable. "What?" She spluttered disbelievingly, "I cannot believe this!"

"My Lady," Rolph Spicer stared boldly at her while all of the surrounding Rivermen tittered nervously, "It is true. Joffrey Rivers was poisoned before he could force a marriage with the Tyrells. Margaery Tyrell is no better than a prisoner. Her guard slaughtered, and Ladies-in-Waiting sold to the brothels. The Tyrell cousins captured are being held in the Maidenvault under heavy guard."

"What of Loras Tyrell and the Queen of Thorns?" Lilith asked. She had been far too busy to scry such things. With having spent so much time righting the chaotic Riverlands, and trying to increase the output of Harrenhal's fertile lands before winter's imminent arrival. Just before Lord Spicer arrived with his news Lilith had been meeting with Lord Butterwell. The man was located in such a position that he could govern the expansive leagues of her eastern holdings at Harrenhal. He left with more power than his House had held since they were stripped of everything. No longer petty Lords. Before the Butterwells were the Wodes who had already been strongly enough positioned to take charge of the westerly holdings. Elevated from landed Knights to landed Lords in a single sitting. With time they would both be powerful allies in a rapidly changing political scene.

"Petyr Baelish convinced the Queen Regent that Lady Tyrell was behind the assassination of Joffrey Rivers. She fled with her grandson in the night though they were unable to rescue her granddaughter. No word on their location as of yet."

"Send word to Maester Marwyn with a dependable rider," She cut Lord Spicer off impolitely, though that was not a concern given the circumstances. "Have him to prioritize the search for Olenna Tyrell and her grandson while he is in the area. If we can take the pair in addition to Dickon Tarly then we will have a much stronger negotiating piece with Mace Tyrell than the Lannisters do." Her hand waved for him to continue as a Wode squire raced off to do as was needed. "Has Margaery Tyrell been wedded to Tommen Baratheon then?"

"No, my Lady." Here his voice grew taut with tension. "I have received news that Stannis Baratheon arrived in King's Landing at Tyrion Lannister's request. As the Imp is the only Lannister not in our captivity or… Alliance," He glanced shiftily her way at referring to Jaime, "He has taken charge. It has spread like wildfire that Shireen Baratheon has been betrothed to her cousin. Stannis will serve as King until his death while Tyrion Lannister shall retain the position of Hand." Troubling though it was Lilith knew that once it was revealed that Robb Stark was still alive everyone would rally behind them. So long as the Reach's ties to the Crown could be weakened of course. "Margaery Tyrell, accordingly, has been wedded to Tyrion Lannister. The High Septon set aside his marriage to Sansa Stark given that it was widely known to have been unconsummated."

"They will doubtlessly marry the whore Queen off as well," Lilith hummed to herself. All of her court seemed to be concerned by this turn of events.

"Yes, my Lady," Lord Spicer agreed, "I would imagine the Imp will throw his sister at whatever dog bites now that she is only a rival to Stannis. They were never close either, which only adds to my suspicions."

"What other news do you have?" Lilith asked, trying hard to fight her fear.

"Lady Arya Stark has been recovered…" He paused thickly, "Though she was wedded to Ramsay Bolton, the heir to the Dreadfort, a moon ago." That dropped heavier than a boulder in the room. "The Boltons have used this to their advantage. Lady Jonelle Cerwyn has been subjugated, the Umbers have kneeled in the face of House Bolton's new strength, and half of the Hornwood lands have been wrested from House Manderly."

"What of the Wall?" She enquired frostily at this poor news, "I received a raven from the Night's Watch this morning that they are facing incredibly dire straits."

"That I know little of," Lord Spicer acknowledged.

"Send a raven to my uncle at Seagard. Tell him any forces that can be spared must be sent to the Wall with any ships available." She paused. "Gather the coin needed to employ ships at Gulltown. Any Houses swayed by our recent turn of fortunes in the war must be pleaded with, Lord Spicer. They are honourable Lords who should be willing to assist us in keeping this Wildling invasion held back." Her fingers tapped the armrest, "Use those forces and the defense of the Wall to circumvent the Bolton's. Rally the North's western Lords. Perhaps the Umbers will find the needed strength to break free of the Bolton's ranks."

He nodded stiffly prior to leaving. She sat back to listen as more outraged peasants petitioned her. Contemplating nervously that the Lannisters were only growing stronger as her own forces and allies were spread further about Westeros.

OOOO

Lord Karstark had accomplished much during his campaign in the Westerlands. The Paynes, Swifts, and garrison of Brax had all sworn their new allegiances to Lady Lilith. Their strength was paired with his own and that of the Lydden's along with the Serretts. In recent days many Westermen had been freed from their obligations in the Riverlands. Leaving them able to supplement his ranks in turn. They were numerous now, swelling each day with more soldiers. Despite recent divisions they all had united to drive back the Ironborn scum.

Ever closer they came towards Clegane's Keep with no trouble. Merely the little pocket of resistance as Lannister loyalists acted foolishly. Now in a little town, only a day's ride from the landmark where Ironborn banners had been seen waving, he roosted. Only so much time could be spent in discussions with the ancient Westerland Lords who had been left behind due to their frailty, or the divisive Rivermen accompanying him. No. He had been desperate for a distraction.

Fortunately one had come in the very tavern which he had made his base of operations. The tavern master's daughter was a pretty little thing. With golden hair that looked softer than Northern wool, and long legs. Many lads in his company pestered her endlessly until they all moved outwards for easier conquests. Lord Karstark was far more seasoned than those impatient greenboys though. He had courted the chit patiently. A year in Riverrun's dungeons with no womanly comfort left him willing to wait a little bit longer though, as well. As predicted she began to pay him small favours. Noticeable favours. Arriving in the evenings to stoker his hearth. Preparing hot baths. Extra portions.

She was interested in him even though he was nearly as old as her portly father. Lord Karstark understood why. He was still as muscular as he had been in the the years of his prime. Kinder to her than any of the other men staying at the tavern had been. That perhaps was the reason he found her asleep upon his bed after an arduous string of meetings. Her bodice unlaced to reveal a gorgeous pair of tits. Mouth watering he pushed himself to continue the pretense of an honourable Northman. "Lana," The man whispered prompting her to sit up quickly. He stood before her and could see the blush rising to her inexperienced cheeks, to the jiggling breasts below. In truth the Lord had only learnt her name to earn the last little bit of favour. To make her think he cared.

"Milord," Lana stuttered, "I was cleaning and must have dozed off. I apologize. Do not tell my father about this." Rickard could deduce the rest easily enough. His careful manipulations had awoken her blossoming sensuality. Lana had rested upon his bed in a fit of fantasy. Imagining him finding her with the shapely breasts she was so proud of exposed. This was not the first time the Lord of Karhold had played such games.

"Have you ever seen a man naked before, Lana?" He asked whilst loosening his jerkin. She shook her head no whilst reaching up to tighten the stretched laces. Pulling her delicious tits back into hiding. Her interest was clearly piqued, for those blue eyes watched him intently. His torso now exposed he began to unlace the breeches after kicking off the boots. Rickard's muscular, scarred torso seemed to intrigue her. Without rushing he settled down beside the lusty maiden. Her back stiffened though she did not startle. "Would you like to?" The Northman asked leadingly.

"Yes, Lord Rickard," Her voice was a soft tremule.

"Unlace my breeches then. I am tired from my day," He reclined allowing the nervous maiden to do as bidden. Her bountiful breasts bounced against the loosely redone laces of her bodice. His member rose prominently into the air as soon as white britches were unlaced. With only a word of encouragement the lass began to experiment slowly. First her hesitant hands, and then her mouth.

"You should rest here, girl," His tone was raspy now, "Your father will only be more likely to notice how late it is if you go back now." That much was true. It was darker than pitch outside. Fretfully the girl moved to sit in a chair across the room. "No. Strip," He ordered, "It is a cold night. We shall warm one another." Rickard had already forgotten her name in his lust. Though it no longer mattered. She was not incredibly stupid, nor was she truly as gullible as it seemed. No. The innkeeper's daughter was simply interested. A closeted hellion hidden all her life was coming forth now. In only moments she would betray the full extent of her lust for the Northern savage before her.

Slowly she unlaced her bodice again. Fully blossomed, rosy tits revealed to his throbbing cock. Her face still covered in the sloppy signs of what she had just done moments earlier. Easily enough the pretty maiden was slipping nakedly into his sheets. They kissed of course. He reached down long enough to ensure that she was just wet enough. Wasting no time the Lord thrusted himself forth with a grunt. Then another and another. Playing with her body to ensure that his foolish maiden would at least enjoy her downfall. Together they rutted like animals as she swiftly learnt the game. Finally he managed to spill his seed deep inside the girl's sore body with a long groan.

The pair of them had been loud. Her father was surely aware of what had happened by now. He would be paid of course for the trouble, though Lana would still be in for miserable time of it. Their slumber was interrupted by the slamming open of the door. Lord Rickard stood at the sight of his leading scout. A still half-asleep Lana sat upwards drawing the lechery man's gaze away from the matter at hand. "What?" The Lord snapped loudly.

"It is not the Ironborn at Clegane Keep!" Trilled the scout ecstatically, all while taking knowing peeks at the sight of Lana's weary form. "Robb Stark is alive! He has been pretending to have led a force of Ironborn on coastal raids through the Westerlands."

"Hush you stupid goat fucker!" He snapped at the idiotic twit. "Who else knows?"

"Only the other two scouts…." The man's excitement was much more muted.

"Find them _now_. Tell them to keep silent on this matter. Then you will ride back out with a letter from myself to the King. Understood?" With a nod he had raced from the room. Karstark moved quickly to write the aforementioned letter. The Westerlands had been all-but conquered if the ranks of Westermen now standing in his coalition were anything to go by. Robb Stark was needed in the Riverlands, or in the North. Certainly not here. Only when the letter was dispatched did he glance at the young woman sitting upright in his bed. Beside her rested the crimson stain signifying what had been done.

It seemed her luck was great. She would not be abandoned to the arms of ruin quite just yet. "You'll be keeping quiet about this two, girl," He impressed firmly upon her, "If you want me to protect you from your father."

"Yes, my Lord," Her voice carried firmly as she moved to dress. Though far from a marriage Lord Karstark could already tell that their union had resulted in several unspoken oaths. At the least he had gotten a pretty bed warmer out of it.

OOOO

Next Chapter: Hindsight.


End file.
